


A Warm Embrace

by thevalleyarchive



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: "This bad boy can fit so much trauma in it!", Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, F/F, Human Trafficking, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Slavery, Slow Burn, beaujester, crime princess au, slaps roof of beau:, will update tags as we go on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 154,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22484071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevalleyarchive/pseuds/thevalleyarchive
Summary: AU where Jester is raised by the Gentleman and Beau isn't sent to the Cobalt Soul - she's just kicked out of her home.  With no friends, no family, and no prospects, Beau takes up with a smuggler out of Zadash, desperate for any future that has nothing to do with Kamordah. Along the way, she develops a connection with her new boss's daughter, who she comes to view as a trusted friend and ally, the kind she always wished for, and definitely nothing more than that. Definitely.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett
Comments: 194
Kudos: 332





	1. An End and a Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This AU is exactly what it says on the tin - those are the only changes I intend to make. I'll do my best to predict what canon would look like if those were the only two changes to the world. I make no promises about getting timelines right. Also, this is very much a slowburn. Like, don't expect either of them to even entertain the possibility of feelings in the first 50,000 words. Just so you know what you're getting into.

The door slammed in Beau’s face with all the force and finality of the lid of a coffin. There had never been much warmth for her in her father’s house, but it was only now that that door had shut that Beau realized just how cold the rainy Kamordah evening was. She stood for another long moment on the porch, shivering, as her father’s last words rang through her entire being. Then she turned and walked into the drizzle, away from the house that was no longer her home. Had never been her home. The rain pelted her, rivulets of clear liquid running down face. It was _only_ rain that ran down her face. She wiped it away, but the rain kept coming, and it was hard to see through all the water in her eyes.

She only paused for a moment between the door of the house and the gate of the Lionett estate as she made her departure. Her father may have caught her in the act of selling his wine illegally, but he hadn’t asked her where she kept her stash. She flipped over a large rock along the path and retrieved four bottles of his finest, most valued stock. At least this way he’d be losing something he cared about. With the bottles safely secured in her rucksack, she finished her exit. The guards at the gate were stone-faced as she passed. She couldn’t see their faces, but she knew. She knew that there was definitely no pity. Beau hated pity. She didn’t need it. And she didn’t look at their faces.

The main road was mud, rapidly turning to a dirty soup, but Beau plowed through it as she made her way to the Dusty Lion inn. It wasn’t the largest bar in town, or the nicest or the cleanest or the safest. That’s why she did most of her business there. The kind of people who went to the Dusty Lion needed contacts, people who could get them cheap goods and services. People who didn’t or couldn’t care about how those things were acquired. Only the wicked and desperate called on that place. So Beau stepped beneath its cracked and greying sign and pushed through the mud-encrusted door.

A wall of warmth greeted her, the warmth of a badly smoking fire and dozens of grubby bodies shoved together in close quarters. It was a warmth that grasped and pulled, that raked over her body like the shifty eyes of the strangers who turned to see who had arrived. No familiar faces. Beau’s heart sunk. With the weather so bad and the bar so unusually full, she’d been sure there would be someone there that she’d done business with before. She squared her shoulders and shoved through towards the bar. She’d make a new contact if she needed to, then. She was fucking personable. She sat down at the bar and caught the bartender’s eye. “Whisky,” she said, in what she hoped was a friendly and casual tone. The small man’s eyes widened in fear and he hurried to pour her a drink. Fuck.

Beau downed the whiskey in one swallow and shuddered as it burned down her throat. She glanced at the bartender, who was still looking at her nervously. Fuck it. “More,” she barked at him, and turned to take a closer look at the crowd as he hastened to fill her glass. Lots of out of towners, a few local crooks, that wasn’t surprising. A few lawful citizens of Kamordah – that was surprising. Beau guessed the rain must’ve overridden their concern about rubbing shoulders with lowlifes like her. Still no one she knew she could sell to. She raised her newly filled whiskey to her lips to take a drink, then paused as the opening door caught her attention. A hooded figure in a green cloak stepped in from the rain, followed by a much shorter figure in a grey cloak. Beau cocked her head. It almost looked like the taller figure had blue skin. Who fucking has blue skin?

As Beau looked on, her suspicion was confirmed – and then some – as the figure pushed back her hood, revealing a young tiefling woman – with blue skin yes, but also blue hair, and eyes that lay somewhere between blue and violet. Her face was wide, with high cheekbones, a mouth that seemed almost permanently upturned into a smile, and a splash of freckles across her cheeks. She looked altogether too sweet and innocent for a place like this. On another night, maybe Beau would walk up and introduce herself with a wink and a smirk, but that kind of thought couldn’t be farther from her mind right now. She downed her drink and turned her attention to the shorter figure. A halfling, by the look of him, with dark hair. Not someone she knew, but he did appear to have a pretty good collection of tattoos, and that was just what she could see while he was cloaked. Maybe a good person to try. Beau was just considering her approach when there was a loud bang, and all the windows in the bar flew open.

The room was immediately thrown into darkness as the bitter wind rushed into the bar, carrying with it the chill and wet of the world outside. A cacophony of disgruntled swearing rose up from the patrons and joined the whistling howl of the wind swirling through the air. It was in turn joined by another sound, a sound like high sweet laughter, a laugh of giddy joy and simple delight. _The fuck?_ Beau looked around for its source, but the bar was dark, and she couldn’t see a damn thing. Stupid fucking human eyes. Then, with another cacophonous crash, the windows slammed shut, and it was quiet again. Beau turned back towards the bar, and saw the bartender about to hurry off, carrying oil and flint to relight the room. “Hey hey hey,” Beau barked at him, locking eyes on him and pointing at her empty glass. “More.” He paused, looking at her with something nasty in his eyes, but she stared him down. _Fucking try me tonight._ Her thought must’ve shown on her face, because he scowled at her before quickly pouring her a drink and hurrying away. “Thank you!” Beau called after him, a sharp smile on her face.

As she sipped her drink and the light crept back into the room, Beau gave a quick glance around, looking for that halfling again. Her search ended rapidly, though, when her eyes caught on a familiar figure, sitting alone at a table in the corner. She must’ve missed him in the bustle earlier, but now that the weirdness with the windows had drawn the crowd in closer to the bar, Beau had a clear line of sight to the blond human man. His name was Marillius, and he was a wine seller that operated out of Rexxentrum. She and Tori had done business with him a few times – he was always delighted to buy fine Lionett wine at such a ridiculously low price. She hadn’t seen him since she and Tori had been caught, though. Hopefully that wouldn’t spook him. Beau waited. After a few seconds, Marillius looked up from his plate and saw her looking at him. Beau raised her glass to him with the same sharp smile still on her face, and flicked her head towards the empty barstool next to her. Marillius narrowed his eyes, then stood, smoothing his clothes, and carefully made his way to the bar.

“Marillius! How you been, man?” called Beau as he approached.

“Wet,” said Marillius dryly as he took the seat next to her. He smelled of grapes and perfume. Beau wrinkled her nose. “Do you have something for me?” he asked. His eyes narrowed even further. “Where is your friend?”

Beau took a drink. Her smile stayed fixed and her eyes stayed hard. “As to the second question, you’d know better than me. Isn’t Rexxentrum where the nearest prison is?” She paused for a moment to give him a chance to express insincere sympathies.

Marillius said nothing.

Beau continued, “As to the first question, what I have for you here are four bottles of the finest Lionett reserves.” That got his attention.

“You have these bottles with you, I take it?” said Marillius, looking at Beau shrewdly.

Beau unslung her rucksack and removed one bottle and handed it to him to inspect. The red wine within sloshed slightly. “Give it a look, but be careful with it. That’s liquid gold you’re holding.”

Marillius gave it a long, careful look, swirling it gently as he did. “Yes, I daresay it is,” he said finally, setting the bottle down carefully. “Will you be wanting the usual price for it, then?”

“That, and one other thing,” said Beau, leaning forward. “I want a job. I want you to take me with you to Rexxentrum.”

The words hung in the air for a long minute as Marillius looked at her with undisguised incredulity and suspicion. “Why on earth would you want to work for me in Rexxentrum?” he asked, with a tone that made Beau grind her teeth. “You have a very lucrative operation going here.”

“Not anymore.” Beau leaned back and downed the last of her drink. “Dad kicked me out. Cut me off. These bottles are the last of it.”

“I see.” Marillion’s eyes bored into her. “Then why on earth would I want to take you with me?”

“What?” Beau furrowed her brow, confused. And maybe, she realized, a little bit drunk. “I’m a fucking phenomenal fence. Or smuggler. Or whatever. I get you good fucking things at a good fucking price.”

“Here, maybe. But you’re a little girl stealing from her daddy’s winery.” His mockery burrowed into her. “That’s a far sight different than being a reliable supplier or acquirer. You were a _contact_ ,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain, “And a contact without connections is of no value to me. I’ll buy those bottles from you – I’ll give you a few extra gold on each, even. But after that, I see no value in prolonging our association.” Marillion produced a purse from his belt and held it out towards Beau.

Blood pounded in her head. Beau looked from the bulging bag of coins to the smug, condescending face of the man holding it, and had to fight the urge to sink her fist into his stupid fucking nose. “Fuck you,” she spat.

“Hmph.” Marillion’s arm withdrew, and the bag of coins vanished. He stood and brushed off his clothes. “Good evening, Beauregard,” he said, and he walked away.

Beau turned to the bartender and shoved her empty glass toward him. “More!” she yelled, the words ripping at her throat. He filled the glass quickly, and just as quickly she emptied it. Her head spun, filled with whisky and rage and something sharper, some yawning oblivion of terror that threatened to swallow her. There was no way out. Who would take her with them? Marillion was right, she was just a spoiled brat playing at crime who’d gotten slapped on the wrist and run off crying. Who would want to hire someone so pathetic? She looked at the bottle of wine still resting on the bar top.

 _It’d have to be the wine,_ she realized. She hadn’t been exaggerating – the fine stock she’d taken was more than worth its weight in gold. If she sold it to a legitimate buyer, she could get much more money than Marillion had offered, more than enough to… to…

To what? To build a life? Doing what? Beau didn’t know. And what kind of life would that be, given to her by her dad’s wine money? Beau looked again at the bottle, and the hatred and indignation at that thought swelled up in her, more powerful than fear or anger or humiliation. She seized the bottle up and ripped the cork from its mouth. She raised it to her lips and poured, filling her mouth with liquid that was sweet and rich and dry and sour, pouring the entirety of it into herself, into the gaping maw in her chest to be destroyed. For a moment it felt like it would fill her, like the swirling, warm liquid flowing into her throat was about to coalesce into… something. And then it was empty, and she felt the last gulp in her mouth, red and warm as blood, and she swallowed, and the bottle crashed to the ground and shattered as her head swirled and swam. She leaned forward and felt something warm and wet running down her cheeks. Definitely wine.

A voice spoke up behind her and she jumped. It was a low voice, gruff and smooth and clever, nothing like her dad’s. She angrily wiped her eyes and turned to see the halfling man she’d noticed earlier, his hood down, his hair spiky and somewhat disheveled. Behind him, the tiefling girl leaned against the bar as the bartender searched under it for a bottle. For a moment, Beau thought she saw a paintbrush in the girl’s hand, but that was ridiculous. There was graffiti all over this place, and surely that dick drawing had always been there. And that caricature of the bartender. And that unicorn…?

“Well?” asked the halfling, and Beau snapped out of her trance.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” she asked, her voice thick.

“I said that I saw that man tried to cheat you on those wine bottles, and that I wanted to offer you a better price. You were smart not to take a deal that shitty,” said the man. “Though it wasn’t very smart to drink one of them.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” said Beau. “I’m just so fucking smart. What’s your name?”

“Thed,” said Thed. “And you can call her-“

“I’m the Sapphire!” said the tiefling brightly, stepping up next to Thed. She extended one hand towards Beau to shake. In her other hand she held a glass of milk.

Beau took her hand hesitantly. She had the odd urge to bow and kiss one of the gaudy rings the girl was wearing on her outstretched hand, but she gave it a firm shake instead. “Do they call you that because you’re pretty and blue?”

“That’s exactly why they call me that!” the Sapphire beamed.

Thed stepped between them, giving Beau a look that she’d probably recognize if she were less drunk, but that just seemed generically unpleasant right now. “About your wine-“

Beau interrupted him. “Where are you from, Thed?”

“A fence should know better than to ask those kinds of questions,” Thed said with a hint of warning.

“But are you from a big city?” asked Beau. Her words were beginning to slur a bit.

“One of the biggest,” Thed responded. “Why?”

Beau looked at him as steadily as she could manage. “You can have the bottles, free of charge. A gift for you, or your boss, if you have one. But I want you to take me with you. And I want a job.”

Thed looked taken aback. “You don’t even know what we do.”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” said Beau, “I just want out of this stupid fucking town. And besides, you want someone like me working for you.” Marillion’s stupid, condescending face swam in front of her vision. “I’m fucking good at finding things. Getting people things they want.”

Thed looked at Beau closely, sizing her up. “I don’t make the decisions about who works with me,” he said after a long moment, “But if you’re serious, I’ll take you to my boss, and see what he thinks. I can’t promise more than that.”

“Don’t worry though!” said the Sapphire excitedly. “He’s going to love you. Like, I just met you, and you already seem so cool.”

Beau smiled. With relief, with satisfaction, at the ridiculousness of the girl standing in front of her. “Thanks, Sapphire.”

“Well of course!” said the Sapphire. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Beau.”

“It’s nice to meet you Beau,” said the Sapphire. “Do you have a place to stay for the night? Because we have two rooms! You can stay with Thed, he won’t mind!”

Thed’s face seemed to fill with exhaustion as he heard this. “No, I won’t mind at all,” he said with just a hint of exasperation.

Beau thought for a moment. Her impulse was to say no, to sleep out in the mud and the rain, but the Sapphire had offered so sweetly, and Thed so clearly hated the idea, that Beau found herself saying the words, “That sounds great.”

“Great!” said the Sapphire, and she and Thed stepped away from the bar, towards the stairs. Beau made to follow them, but she was stopped by the sound of the bartender clearing his throat.

Beau turned back towards him. He held out a hand. “If you’re done for the night, pay up,” he said.

Beau reached for her purse. She’d taken a few gold from the house when her dad kicked her out. As her fingers followed her purse strings, though, they grasped on empty air. Her purse had been cut.

She was fumbling for an excuse, when the voice of the Sapphire cut through her fog. “Don’t worry, we’ll cover her,” the Sapphire said to the bartender.

Thed let out a grunt of annoyance. “Sapphire, we don’t need to pay for this tagalong! We’re already giving her a free place to sleep for the night!”

The Sapphire gave him a look of reproach. “We can pay for four whiskeys, Thed,” she said. “What can that cost? 5 platinum?” And to Beau’s astonishment, the Sapphire produced five shining platinum coins from somewhere beneath her cloak and pressed them into the bartender’s fingers, which had gone limp in astonishment.

The Sapphire gave Beau a smile, so filled with warmth Beau almost wanted to cry. “Come on upstairs!” And with that, the Sapphire flounced away, up the stairs and out of sight. Beau and Thed followed. They arrived on a landing and stopped walking at the doors to two adjacent rooms. The Sapphire vanished into one of them, poking her head out just long enough to shout “Goodnight!” before slamming the door. Thed turned to Beau and awkwardly gestured her into the other one. Beau entered, and Thed followed behind, closing the door. He turned towards her.

“Before you head off to your beauty sleep, and to the monster of a hangover waiting for you in the morning, I’ll take those bottles,” he said, extending a hand.

Beau unslung her rucksack and passed it over to him. “Take care of those,” she warned, her head swimming as she collapsed down onto the bed. “Those are for your boss. I want to make a good impression.”

Thed chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” he said. “The boss prefers to work with a certain kind of person. He’ll be happy to see that you’ve brought many gifts.”


	2. The Descent

“Wine from Kamordah and fine flour from Deastok!” said the Sapphire brightly. The guard inspecting their wagon grunted. His Crownsguard armor clinked as he climbed into the back of the wagon that Beau had just vacated. She crossed her arms and watched him intently as he opened a sack of flour at random before sticking his dirty, gauntleted hand in and giving it a cursory run through. He withdrew it, flour flowing off his hand and back into the bag like sand, leaving a small dusting clinging to the sweat-soaked leather and greasy steel of the gauntlet.

He moved next to the barrels. As he tapped one, Beau turned her attention towards the Sapphire, who was speaking loudly and cheerfully to the other guard standing by the gate. “We usually sell to the Meal Hearth over in the Silken Terrace,” she said brightly, rocking forward on her heels, “And sometimes they give me cupcakes for free if they have leftovers. Have you ever been there? Have you ever had one of their cupcakes?”

Beau cracked a grin. The Sapphire’s good mood had been unflappable the whole trip. Her grin curdled when the guard emerged from the cart and moved to address Thed, who had yet to say a word. Why the fuck would they think he was in charge?

“Tariff for this lot is 5 gold, 7 silver, 3 copper,” said the guard. “And a word of advice – if you’re going to go all the way to Kamordah, buy some better fucking wine.”

Thed shrugged. “Bottles are harder to transport than barrels. But thanks for the advice.” He handed the guard some coins. “Let’s go!” Thed called out. Beau rolled her eyes and hopped back into the wagon.

The Sapphire followed suit. “Okay bye!” she called to the guard as the wagon rolled through the gates and into the city of Zadash.

From the back of the cart, it took a few moments for Beau to properly appreciate the whole _cityness_ of the city of Zadash. There were people everywhere, walking along cobbled roads between the buildings packed in so close and so dense that at first glance it all seemed to be one mono-building. She could hardly hear the conversation between Thed and the Sapphire over the general bustle and burble of people going about their business, and they were barely five feet from her! The cart trundled past a woman hawking fresh greens from a cart, a man recruiting for the Righteous Brand, and a young individual in a tabard yelling at the top of their annoying voice, “Demon circus menaces Trostenwald! Ringmaster imprisoned, but demons still at large! Keep your children close, and watch carefully for an enormous toad and a purple devil! Report any sightings to the nearest Crownsguard immediately!” The crier then repeated the message, at increasingly shrill volumes. It was a wonder their lungs didn’t fly out of their mouth.

The Sapphire vaulted over the dividing wall of the cart and came to a rest beside Beau, her dress and cloak flaring behind her. “So what do you think of your first city?” she said quizzically, cocking her head as if she actually cared about the answer.

“It’s, um, a lot,” said Beau, a little caught off guard. “Wish that asshole would shut up though.”

“Oh don’t mind them, the criers never really know anything,” said the Sapphire, “And they’re so easy to fuck with. You should come with me sometime!”

Beau looked at her for a long moment, then cracked a smile. “Yeah, yeah that sounds fun,” she said. The little blue tiefling had been nothing but friendly towards her these past few days. It’d be nice to do something fun with her before she got tired of Beau.

The cart continued its progress through the city, the Sapphire talking away about the various sites they passed on their way. Beau did her best to focus on her words as the visceral experience of civilization poured into her. The simple joy of seeing, of smelling, of being, supplemented by the pleasant chatter of excitement from the Sapphire, it filled her with a brief sense of… something. Something nice. It didn’t fill the empty space in her chest. Not by a long shot. But still, Beau was something close to happy, for a few minutes at least, as she watched the city flow and change around her.

“We’re here,” said Thed. The cart came to a stop, and Beau came back to herself. Before them was a small, dirty-looking building with two rough-looking humans flanking the door. Above the entrance hung a cracked sign, almost unreadable with wear, spelling out the words “Evening Nip,” in uneven lettering.

Beau dropped from the cart with a studied confidence that she did not feel. The bouncers – she knew they were bouncers – looked at her menacingly. “What are you looking at?” Beau barked at them.

“Easy, Beau,” said Thed, dismounting.

The Sapphire alighted next to Beau in a cloud of fabric. “You can start unloading that,” she said imperiously to the bouncers, and walked up to the door. She looked over her shoulder. “Coming?”

Thed gave a mocking half-bow and gestured for Beau to proceed. Beau gave him an equally mocking half-smile, and she followed the Sapphire into the Evening Nip.

It was a bar, its interior nearly as dingy as its exterior. It was paneled all in dark hardwood, which might have been nice under the layer of grime clinging to everything. The place was tiny, and the guttering, greasy candles that produced as much smoke as fire only served to make it seem smaller. The bar was empty, save for a small man – a dwarf, Beau thought, wrong proportions for a halfling – standing behind the bar. His beard was uneven, like half of it had been burned away and he couldn’t be bothered to shave the rest. His face twisted into something that might’ve been a grin or a grimace as the three of them stepped into the bar.

“Thed, you rat bastard!” the dwarf roared as he emerged from behind the bar, walking towards them, “Good to see you! Didn’t shrivel up and die spending all that time in the open air, did you? Didn’t get carried off by eagles?”

Thed gave an irritable sounding grunt.

The dwarf spun past Beau and gave a deep bow towards the Sapphire. “M’lady Sapphire,” he said, his tone of voice suddenly full of deference and respect, “How did you enjoy your time away from the city? Did that yellow-bellied tunnel weasel do as you told him?”

“He was very helpful and very cooperative,” said the Sapphire, “And he was very good company. Not as cute or cuddly as a real weasel though.”

“I am standing right here,” growled Thed, who seemed to have reached the – apparently very short – limits of his patience. “Clive, we picked up a stray in Kamordah. She has no coin, but –“

“Oh shit!” said Beau, “I offer many – er, I bring – I have many gifts!” Not the first impression she’d been hoping for.

Thed rolled his eyes, but Clive chuckled. “That’s the important part. Name’s Clive Bens. If the boss likes you, we’ll be seeing a fair sight more of each other.” Clive addressed the Sapphire. “Did you have a successful trip?”

“Oh yeah, obviously,” said the Sapphire as the doors opened again and the two bouncers entered, carrying a barrel of wine each. “See for yourself.” She gestured to the barrels.

Clive approached one of the newly deposited barrels and popped off the lid, revealing the harsh dark liquid within. He reached in with one arm, almost up to the shoulder, and fished around for a moment before pulling his arm back out, a glass bottle clutched in his grasp. He spun it around and pulled off the scrap of water-repellant canvas that had been strapped on to keep the label dry. His eyes went wide. “Fucking hell, that’s a good haul. You have more of them?”

“Two more,” said Beau, her self-satisfaction bleeding into her voice as she held out her open hand towards Clive, “And they’re mine. A gift to your boss.”

Clive stared her down for a moment. Beau stared back, shifting her face into the scowl she used to intimidate new contacts.

“What’d you say your name was?” asked Clive.

“I didn’t, but it’s Beau.”

“Beau.” Clive cracked a smile and handed her the bottle. “You’ll certainly be getting off on the right foot with that.”

With the tension broken, Beau resisted the urge to let out the breath she’d been holding. Instead, she carefully relaxed the core muscles she’d been tensing, careful to still leave her scowl in place. She considered a response, but all the words that came to mind seemed too hostile. The moment of silence was just beginning to stretch when the Sapphire intervened.

“You know, there’s a lot more to unpack than that,” she said cheerily, “Why don’t you two finish unloading while I take Beau downstairs and introduce her to my dad?

“Wait, hold on, what?” Beau shook her head, as if jostling the words around would make them make more sense. “The boss – my new boss – is your dad?”

“Yeah?” said the Sapphire, looking at Beau strangely, as though it were the most obvious and normal thing in the fucking world.

“And the whole time we were on the road, you just fucking, didn’t see any reason to bring it up?”

“Oh, I must’ve brought it up some time,” said the Sapphire with a small snort, “He’s so great.”

Beau tried to remember. She had chatted with the Sapphire quite a bit on the road from Kamordah. Like, a lot, actually, now that she thought about it. She hadn’t been very receptive that first morning when Thed shook her awake roughly to the worst hangover she could remember. “We move bright and early in this business,” he had said with a rather cruel glee.

Maybe if the Sapphire had mentioned it in the initial volley of chatter that she’d engaged in that morning while they left Kamordah on the Bromkiln Byway, Beau would’ve missed it. Between the pounding headache, the sour stomach, and the rush of emotions too complicated to process that she felt watching the only town she’d ever known vanish behind them, Beau had been having a hard time parsing the conversation in the cart. Not an impossible time, though. Knowledge was life, and she’d have been a fool not to pay attention when so much was being offered so freely.

“So you’re smugglers, then?” Beau had asked, trying to resolve the deluge of words and sounds she’d just received.

“That’s a way of looking at it,” Thed began, prevaricating, but then the Sapphire had jumped in.

“Yeah, and we smuggle really cool things!” the Sapphire had said. “We picked up a whole bunch of artifacts from some rich people in the Truscan Vale that like new things more than they like what they already have, and some cool monster bits from an adventuring company in Deastok, and, like, so many other cool things! Oh, and I guess, like, wine and stuff.”

“Cool. That sounds cool,” Beau had said. And it was true enough. As the days on the road had rolled by, their little wagon packed with valuable goods trundling towards some city – Beau figured either Rexxentrum or Zadash, based on their route – she had found herself with little to do but watch the empty countryside roll by, or else to try to figure out her new companions. Thed had been easy enough – he was tight-lipped about himself and the details of his work, but open enough with other stories. He seemed like a pretty typical criminal-type – the sort Beau had dealt with ever since she got into the business of stealing and selling her dad’s wine, the sort whose mystery had long since faded.

The Sapphire, on the other hand… Beau still didn’t really understand her. She was enthusiastic and friendly, eager to chat about anything at all. She engaged in some entertaining vandalism at almost every opportunity, which Beau was happy to help with. Once, she’d made Thed stop the cart so that she could paint a dick on the forehead of a man sleeping on the side of the road. When Beau had asked her why, the Sapphire had just looked at her and said, “The Traveler will think it’s so funny!” like nothing could possibly make more sense. Beau doubted very much that a traveler on foot and without a tent would get a laugh out of waking up with a dick drawn on his face, but she also didn’t care. The Sapphire was welcome to justify her hobbies however she liked.

What was strange, though, was that it was obvious that the Sapphire was the one in charge, and not in some performative way either. When she gave Thed orders, he hopped to obey. She was the one who talked to guards and inspectors, the one who decided what was to be hidden where. She appeared to command an enormous amount of respect for someone so young and so… strange.

Maybe now Beau knew why.

The Sapphire had led her into a storage room behind the bar, a pantry maybe, and had lifted open a trapdoor in the corner. She stood now on the top step of the hidden staircase below, her smile shining in the dark room, the jewelry on her horns clinking softly, her hand extended towards Beau, beckoning for her to follow the Sapphire down, to descend. Beau didn’t hesitate.

At the bottom of the stairs, Beau stepped into another world. A cavernous tavern room was spread out before her, lit by dancing orange flames in sconces on the walls. The air was alive with a warm current, a sense of camaraderie that seemed to radiate out from the motley collection of individuals who were spread about the room, lounging and laughing, shit-talking and drinking and gambling. It was a predatory sort of heat, though, the heat of blood pounding and blood spilled, the heat of a pack of predators. It was a heat Beau did not trust, and she began to sweat. As she followed the Sapphire down the stairs from the door, she could not help but feel like she was walking into the belly of the beast. Like she was being swallowed.

Then the Sapphire swept a hand through the air, her voice slipping softly over strange words devoid of meaning but filled with power, and the torches in their sconces turned blue, a blue as deep as her, and then the room was blue as well, its edges and its people all cast in sharp shadows and a half-luminance that washed out all the colors in the faces that turned to look at the new arrivals.

The Sapphire smiled and gave a little wave. “We’re back,” she trilled in a singsong.

She was met by smiles. If those smiles held warmth, though, Beau didn’t feel it. They weren’t for her. When the faces turned towards her, the smiles were sharp as razors, and as she stepped onto the tavern floor, the sharp figures seemed to form lines, directing her along a path through the gloom, towards a table in the back. The Sapphire strode happily, almost skipped, towards it. “Hey Dad, I’m back!” she called, her voice so strange and excited in this place, “And I brought a new friend to meet you!”

Beau approached the table. Only one chair was occupied. Standing behind it was a muscular goliath woman, towering over and scowling down at her, sporting a long mohawk that fell down the back of her head like a ponytail. For a moment Beau drew up short, distracted by the woman. Because, well, _woof_. Then she refocused, turning her attention to the occupant of the chair.

Sitting there was an older man, but by no means an old man. His swept-back hair was only beginning to grey, as was the dramatically styled mustache he sported. His skin was light, Beau could tell, and even thought it might be blue, but it was hard to tell in the washed-out glow. He was also damp. Not sweaty or oily, just… damp. Water seemed to cling to him, like dew to grass. He looked at Beau for a moment, then fixed her with a smile more terrible than anything Beau had ever seen. Almost anything.

“You know how I like knew friends, my Sapphire,” he said. “Who, pray tell, are you?”

“Beauregard,” she said. “Beau.”

The man leaned forward. “And why, exactly,” he asked slowly, lightly, “does my daughter call you a friend?”

Beau looked back at him with a measured gave, willing her heart to beat slower, to not give the game away. “Your people have words they say,” she said slowly, carefully, “That they bring many gifts. I believe that actions should follow words.” She placed the bottle of wine on the table and slid it towards him. She hoped that he wouldn’t notice the sweat she had left on it through his coating of moisture.

The man picked up the bottle and looked closely at the label, then at the unbroken seal. “This is a rare vintage,” he said at last, “And a valuable one. Yet you offer it to me, a stranger, as a gift. Why?”

Beau swallowed, a small lump forming in her throat. “I need a job,” she said, “And I didn’t want to come asking without anything to prove I’m worth it. I’m good at finding things,” she continued, hoping it was true, “or at moving or selling, if that’s what you need. I know what things are worth. And I don’t take shit from anyone.”

The man laughed, loud and echoing, and Beau’s knuckles whitened as she clenched her hands into fists. “Those are some bold claims from a soft-skinned noble girl of 20,” he said with a smile.

“I’m 24!” Beau lied angrily, reflexively. “Fuck off with that cold-reading shit. You don’t know me.”

“You’ll find I know quite a lot,” said the man coldly, and Beau suddenly became aware again of the goliath woman, looming over her menacingly. “You don’t speak like a commoner, and you don’t carry yourself like someone used to hard labor. What you’ve said may be true, but if it’s not, it won’t take me long to find out.” He stared straight at her, a flash of murderous anger creeping into his eyes. “There’s nothing I despise more than being lied to.”

He leaned back in his chair, smiling again. “But I’m sure you’ve been nothing but honest with me, Beauregard. Tell me, did you bring anymore of this?” he asked, gesturing towards the wine.

Beau opened her mouth to reply, but the Sapphire jumped in. “Two more!” she said excitedly, “And a lot of other things I think you’re going to really like. Thed and Clive are making a final manifest upstairs; I just thought you’d want to meet Beau as soon as possible.”

“You were absolutely right. In that case,” he said, raising his voice, “Dweez, bring us some glasses!” The man reached out and, with a shiver of steel, uncorked the bottle. Beau started slightly. She had barely seen the knife, and she couldn’t spot it in his hand now as he gestured towards an empty chair. “Have a seat,” he said. It wasn’t a suggestion.

Beau scowled, but sat across from the man. The Sapphire pulled up a chair between them, unbidden, and picked up a deck of cards from the table, which she began shuffling absentmindedly while her gaze darted back and forth between the two of them.

“You’ve asked me a question,” said Beau, trying to steady her breathing and calm herself, “But I have questions too.”

“Is that so?” inquired the man, “What sort of questions are those?”

“I want to know who I’m throwing in with,” said Beau. “Who are you?”

“Who am I?” mused the man softly, one finger twirling the edge of his mustache. “That’s a more interesting question than you realize. I am many people, and I have been many people. I’m a smuggler, a scoundrel, a rogue and a rake. I’m a killer, a lover, a father. I have been a good and honest man, and I’ve been a crook and a criminal. I have done much, seen much, been much, and I hope I will be more.” He smiled as a young-looking gnome with wild, curly hair placed a pair of wine glasses on the table, along with a glass of milk for the Sapphire. “I imagine you were looking for a name, though.” He poured a generous measure of wine into each glass. “I have had many of those, too.” He slid one glass towards Beau and raised his own as if in toast. “But you may call me the Gentleman.” He took a long, slow sip, watching Beau the whole while.

Beau raised the glass to her lips and took a sip as well, struggling to ignore the memories that the rich flavors flowing down her throat tried to drag her towards. She swallowed and gave him her best insolent smirk. “That’s pretty fucking dramatic, dude.”

The Gentleman shrugged, unbothered. “You asked.”

Beau snorted softly and looked between the Sapphire and the Gentleman, mapping the similarities. And the differences. “You both have a fucking article,” she said, insolent grin still firmly in place. “What’s with that, anyway? Is your family name ‘The’?”

“Something like that,” said the Gentleman with a smirk of his own. “You didn’t offer yours.”

Beau grunted and took another sip of wine.

The Gentleman smiled and took a long, luxurious drink of his own. “You must have been very fortunate to acquire three bottles of something so fine,” he said. “Do you consider yourself lucky, Beau?”

Beau shrugged. “I don’t see that it matters. I’m good – that’s better.”

The Gentleman leaned forward. “You’re wrong,” he said. “Many people in this world have skill and talent. I’m one of them. But without good luck, I would not be where I am today. I would likely be dead. Without opportunity, the talented never get to use their talents to change the world around them. Talent only matters once fortune has given you an opportunity. I want to know that the people who work for me have fortune’s favor with them.”

He turned to the Sapphire. “My dear, if you would restore the lights?’

The Sapphire rolled her eyes. “I just wanted to make sure you knew I was back, because I knew how excited you would be to see me,” she said.

“You were right,” said the Gentleman, his smile almost warm, “But our new friend needs to be able to see for what comes next.”

The Sapphire waved her hand through the air, the same strange words slipping from her lips, and the dramatic blue dimness lifted from the tavern as warmth returned. Beau leaned back, blinking rapidly as her stupid human eyes tried to readjust. As the room came back into focus, lit with a gentle, ruddy glow, she saw the Gentleman – he _was_ blue! – holding the deck of cards the Sapphire had been shuffling.

He placed it between them. “I would like to test your luck,” he said. “Have you ever played Gambit of Ord?”

Beau looked at the cards and felt a sick feeling settle in her stomach. “I’ve played,” she said. “If I win, I get the job?”

“Exactly,” said the Gentleman, “I could make good use of someone like you. I can tell you have potential.”

“And if I lose?” Beau asked, slowly, chewing the words.

“You already know enough to be a significant nuisance, and I think you see enough to be much more than that.”

“You’d really kill someone for losing a card game?”

The Gentleman smiled, and it was no less sharp now than it had been in the gloom. “You can draw first,” he said.

Beau did. The cards were old, well-used. She looked at her first card, at the top number on it. _3_. Her heart hammered as she placed the low card facedown. A fucking 3. She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it, that her life should hang on this stupid fucking game. That it might end because of this card.

She noticed that she was scowling. The Gentleman must have too, because he asked, “Is the game not to your liking?”

“It’s not the game,” said Beau, not bothering to keep her voice steady, “I just don’t like it when men think they can learn something important from what fucking cards they draw.”

“Ah, but there’s so much to learn that way,” he said slyly, and drew a card for himself, then offered the deck again to Beau. She drew.

For a moment her heart plummeted as her eyes fixated on the top number, a neat little _2_ with a cupcake drawn around it in a scribbled, rushed style. The cupcake appeared to have boobs. Then she looked instead at the middle number, and there she saw a _6_. A 6! That was the highest number possible on the second draw! Well, technically there was a 9 drawn next to the 6 in the same hurried handwriting, but she doubted the Gentleman would let that stand.

She looked across the table at the Gentleman, who drew his own card and offered her the deck one last time. There was a glint to his eyes. Beau reached out and drew her last card. She looked at the bottom number, written clear and black. As her heart pounded in her throat, her brain screaming at what she saw there, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was how her dad had felt. If he too had felt like he could see his whole life before him, printed on a card.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter would not have been written were it not for the three people who left reviews on the first chapter. A special thanks to them! Feedback is invaluable - if you enjoy this chapter, please consider letting me know! It makes a world of difference.


	3. The Gentleman and the Sapphire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some programming notes. Basically my health took a dive at exactly the same time my hours at work were increased, which is why this took so long to arrive. With my health somewhat improved and COVID-19 reducing my work hours again, I should be back to having time to write! I won't make any promises about schedules or frequencies this time, though. Still, with the show on hiatus, I expect my hunger for new content will keep me pretty motivated. Enjoy!

A _2_. The bottom number on this last card was a 2. Beau swallowed with difficulty. A 6, a 3, and a 2 made 11. Such a small number to carry the weight of her life. Across from her, the Gentleman drew his own last card and smiled. “Show me,” he said with a poisonous smile.

Beau turned over her cards. She stared down the Gentleman, throat dry, clinging as tightly as possible to her last ounce of bravado. “Beat that,” she rasped at him.

The Gentleman’s expression did not waver as he slowly, painfully slowly, turned over his cards one by one. _8_. Beau’s heart plummeted through the floor. It was over, this was it, this was how she died, alone and surrounded by criminals commanded by a smiling madman. _1_. Beau felt a strange tingling in her stomach – that was a terrible card but it didn’t matter, to win his last card would need to be – _1._

Beau stared numbly at the face of the last of the Gentleman’s cards, her mind empty, a strange lifting feeling in her stomach. The Gentleman’s smile widened. “Not today, I’m afraid,” he said. “Perhaps we can play again sometime, see if luck is with me more.” He stood from the table and turned toward the room. “Our troupe has a new member,” he called, his voice booming forth and filling the space. “Cree, get up here and induct Beau properly!”

A cheer went up from the crowd. “Beau!” they chanted. “Beau! Beau! Beau!”

Beau found herself standing too, though she did not recall standing. The Gentleman shook her hand, smiling, and the Sapphire patted her on the shoulder, smiling brightly. “I told you he’d like you,” she said cheerily, and Beau turned to stare at her like a shell-shocked deer. She felt the strangest tickling sensation from where the Sapphire touched her, cutting through the strange, thick air of this secret tavern – but then the gentle blue hand withdrew, and the Sapphire stepped aside as a dark-furred tabaxi woman approached, carrying a satchel.

The woman – Cree, that was the name the Gentleman had called for – approached Beau. “Congratulations, Beau,” she said, her voice soft and faintly raspy. “Are you ready?”

Beau blinked twice, hard, trying to re-center herself. “Um,” she said, “Ready for what?”

The Gentleman stepped up next to Beau, smiling, and placed a hand on her shoulder. It wasn’t comforting, and it wasn’t meant to be. “Just a little formality I insist on. Insurance, if you will. Cree is going to take some of your blood so that if you betray me, I can track you.”

Beau looked from the Gentleman to Cree, then back again. Why the fuck not, everything else here was weird as shit. “That’s fuckin’ creepy, dude,” she said, “But sure. Fucking do it.”

Beau held out an arm towards Cree, bracing for a blade, but Cree just took her arm gently in her hands. Beau watched as a thin stream of blood emerged from her skin and floated smoothly into the vial. Cree corked it, nodded to the Gentleman, and backed away.

The Gentleman waved his hand carelessly, dismissing her, then turned to Beau. “Go celebrate your membership,” he said, “Drinks are on the house. In the morning, we’ll discuss your new job. In the meantime, I have business with my Sapphire.” He sat back down.

The Sapphire beamed at him and took a seat next to him. “Congratulations Beau!” she called over her shoulder, but Beau could see that her attention was completely focused on her father.

Beau took a breath. Mostly steady. “Yeah, thanks.” She turned away from the table and walked towards the bar. After what she’d just been put through, Beau aimed to make that slimy bastard regret covering her tab.

* * *

“You did very well, my dear.”

Jester felt a wide smile split her face as she met her father’s eyes and saw the warmth there. Babenon Dosal was two men, she knew, had known all her life. Among his henchmen and contacts and associates he was the Gentleman, a mask of sharp smiles and sharper wit, a shark among minnows whom none would dare cross. It was a mask he’d bled and suffered and sacrificed to build, and it was one that he could never afford to let slip where any could see it. But here, in this moment, with Sorah standing a respectful distance back and all eyes in the tavern focused on Beau as she walked in a daze towards the bar, he allowed the mask to drop just a little, for a moment, to allow her Dad to shine through. Jester knew the risk he took to offer her this genuine praise, and she felt her love for him swell like a wave in her chest.

“Thanks Dad,” she said softly. “It was a pretty cool first outing.”

Her Dad reached across the table and gave her hand a quick squeeze. Then he let go and leaned back in his chair as the mask slid back into place. “We’ll need to keep an eye on her,” said the Gentleman.

“Why?” asked Jester. “She won the game, you took her blood, and she doesn’t really have anywhere else to go.”

“Exactly,” said the Gentleman, “She’s at rock bottom. She doesn’t think she has anything left to lose, and that makes her a danger to us if she thinks she sees a better opportunity. Or if she decides to deal with whatever her shit is by lashing out. We need to make her feel valued. Get her invested in us.”

“Well, I think she’s smart and nice,” said Jester, fiddling with the small inkbrush still in her hand. She slipped it back up her sleeve. “She knows a lot of things and I think she’ll make a lot of friends.” Jester had heard enough of Beau’s conversations with Thed on the trip to know that she was good at getting other people talking without giving away much about herself or making it obvious that she was info-gathering. Beau would be able to handle the Gentleman’s Troupe easy enough – it would only be a matter of time before they all wanted to be her friends.

“Hmm.” The Gentleman opened his mouth to say something else, but at that moment Thed stepped up to the table.

“We’ve finished inventory and have the manifest right here for you,” said Thed, holding out a stack of paper towards the Gentleman.

Jester snatched it out of his hand. “Thanks Thed good job okay bye!” she said, turning her back to him. Couldn’t he see that _she_ was talking to her Dad right now? The Gentleman gave a small wave of dismissal, and she heard Thed huff slightly, then she heard the clunk of his boots as he walked away.

“Let’s have a look at that,” said the Gentleman. “See how our little test went.”

Jester handed him the manifest and held her breath as he paged through it, his brows drawn in tight as he read and calculated. After a several long minutes, he looked up and gave her a smile. “Very, very good, my Sapphire,” he said, his voice ever so slightly strained. “This new import route will definitely increase our profits, if this run is representative.”

“Well, you don’t sound very happy about it,” said Jester. “Where’s the but?”

The Gentleman sighed, setting the papers down. “It’s not enough,” he said.

Jester’s pulse pounded suddenly, blood rushing to her head. “No,” she said. “You promised.”

“I promised that we’d stop as soon as we could afford to,” the Gentleman said heatedly, frustratedly. “We can no longer afford to, not with the loss of the Mardoon connection.”

“Then send someone else to solve it!”

“I will not throw good money after the bad! I shouldn’t have sent the second group after the first vanished – I won’t send a third!”

“Dad you can’t!” said Jester, more loudly than she’d planned. She took a deep breath.

The Gentleman looked at her, his expression difficult to read, even for her. Pitying, maybe. That hurt much more than rage would have. “The slave trade will continue in Wildemount whether we participate in it or not,” he said softly. “We cannot throw away all we have built here because we want to be principled. We don’t have that luxury.”

Jester looked down at the table, drumming her fingers against it and breathing deep and deliberately. In as steady of a voice as she could muster, she said, “What if we expanded our market share here in Zadash?”

“And how would you propose we do that?” the Gentleman asked, his voice deceptively light.

Jester raised her head and looked him in the eyes. “There are other smugglers here,” she said. “Competitors. The White Peacock gang, maybe.”

The Gentleman was quiet. The minute stretched, tensely, between them. Finally, he spoke, quiet in his anger. “You’d prefer a gang war? I thought I’d taught you better than that.”

Jester shook her head slightly, not breaking eye contact. She needed to match her dad’s intensity. “Not a war, I’m not a child. We don’t need that kind of scrutiny from the law. A coup. We find their leaders and kill them quietly. Then we either take over their operation or let it fall apart. Either way, we can take their customers.”

The Gentleman shook his head. “I can’t spare the personnel for that – we barely have enough people to manage our current operations.”

“What about Beau? She’s not on any of our jobs yet.”

“She’s a runaway noble, not a spy or assassin. I have a different idea for how to put her skills to use.”

“Fine.” Jester crossed her arms and set her lip, frustrated. “I’ll do it then.”

That got her dad’s attention. The Gentleman looked at her, incredulously. “Absolutely not. You don’t have nearly enough experience to handle something like that. You barely got back from your first away mission.”

“But I’ve done lots of jobs for you here in Zadash. People know me. People like me.” Jester smiled. “I’m very sweet.”

The Gentleman shook his head again. “It’s too dangerous.”

Jester smiled wider. “The Traveler will protect me.”

The Gentleman looked at her hard for a minute, then gave a rueful chuckle. “I suppose he always has so far.”

Jester sucked in a breath, her heart lifting. “Does that mean we can do it?”

The Gentleman sighed and slumped forward slightly. He nodded.

“Yes!” Jester jumped up and spun in a small circle. Sorah jumped slightly at her sudden movement, but Jester sat back down quickly. “Thanks Dad!”

The Gentleman grimaced slightly. “Reconnaissance only, my Sapphire. Find out who their leaders are, where they gather and when they’re most vulnerable. Then I’ll pull some of our people together to hit them hard and fast. Do you understand?”

“Oh totally!” said Jester. “I’ll do such a good job. You won’t regret this!”

The Gentleman sighed. “Is this really better to you? People suffer either way, but no one has to die if we rejoin the slave trade, and we don’t put any of our people at risk.”

Jester shook her head. “Slavers hurt innocent people,” she said. “The White Peacocks aren’t innocent.” She left the rest unsaid. _Neither are we_.

The Gentleman nodded slowly. “We’ll make a detailed plan in the morning, then. I need to get reports from the rest of the troupe and hand out some discipline. You should go enjoy yourself for a bit.”

Jester recognized the dismissal. She stood. “Can we play cards tonight?” she asked hopefully.

The Gentleman shook his head. “Not tonight, my dear. Business will keep me up a long while, and afterwards I’ll need a… different kind of relaxation, I think.”

“Oh,” said Jester, disappointment welling up. Then she smiled. “If you were boning tonight you could’ve just said so!” she said with her best attempt at humorous nonchalance.

The Gentleman smiled. “I hope you also have a good evening, dear Sapphire.”

Jester gave a little wave. “Love you Dad.”

“I love you too.”

Jester turned and walked away, heading for the bar. She needed a drink. Pushed through a few familiar intoxicated figures, smiled to Cree, weaved around Dweez as he swayed wildly, and pulled up a stool. “Milk please!” she called to the bartender; a tall, wan man named Seamus. Seamus rolled his eyes good-naturedly and placed a tall glass of cool, fresh milk before her. She picked it up and took a long drink.

“What is it with you and milk?” The voice seemed to drift out of the crowd like smoke rising from a candle, floating languidly through the air and wrapping all around Jester, drawing her inexorably towards its source. To her left stood Beau, leaning heavily against the bar, almost leering at her. It could not be more obvious that she’d been taking full advantage of the free booze.

“I like how it tastes,” said Jester. She took another large drink.

“Sure, sure, fair enough,” Beau muttered, turning slightly away from Jester to face out towards the room. She threw back her head and took a drink of whiskey. Jester stared at her, her slender throat tensing slightly, her nut-brown skin shining underneath a light coating of sweat. Was that from heat or stress or drink, Jester wondered. It was a little warm in here, she realized – she was a little flushed.

“Um, good job on your game!” Jester said, trying to distract herself from her sudden discomfort.

Beau snorted. “Yeah, you didn’t fucking tell me my life would depend on fucking cards.” She turned and stared right at Jester, something angry in her gaze blazing bright through the alcohol haze. “That was pretty shitty of you, if I’m being completely honest.”

“Well I knew you’d be fine!” said Jester defensively. She took another gulp of milk to give her a moment to find her words. “No one ever loses unless they piss him off. I knew he’d like you!”

“Did you now,” said Beau, her sarcasm thick enough to cut with a knife. “And how does he make that happen? Because I know what it looks like to cheat at cards, and he wasn’t doing it.”

“Well I don’t know, he just does!” Jester shot back.

“He just does,” Beau said slowly. “Of course he does. Must be nice working for your dad, Sapphire.”

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” said Jester angrily.

“Oh she does swear! Not so above it all after all.”

“You don’t fucking know me!” Jester yelled. When had she started yelling? Why was Beau being so awful to her?

“No, see, I know exactly who you are. I’ve known so many people like you, Sapphire. I bet daddy’s always given you everything you’ve ever wanted – the family business, people to obey you and dote on you, someone to come crying to whenever you skin your knee, someone who will hold you close and tell you it’s all okay – as long as you laugh pretty and dress pretty and look and act like the perfect princess he wants you to be.”

Beau was panting hard, bent half forward, the stink of booze rolling off her. Something glistened in her eyes that was not rage. Jester met her gaze as evenly and coldly as she could manage. Her blood pounded and her hands shook, but when Jester spoke, her voice was steady, her tone low and frigid. “I told my dad that you were smart and nice, Beau. I misjudged you.”

Beau opened her mouth to respond, but Jester didn’t wait for her. She turned on her heel and marched deliberately away, up the stairs to the balcony overlooking this secret tavern and through the door to her room. Only once the heavy oak door was shut and bolted did she allow a strangled sob to escape her throat as she slid to the ground. She gulped air rapidly, trying to regain her composure.

So what if Beau thought she was some spoiled princess riding her dad’s coattails? So what if Beau thought she was silly and childish and flighty and just a stupid little girl? So what if she couldn’t see that Jester was every bit as competent as everyone else in that room, more so, even than nearly all of them, and that she deserved respect and authority for her own merit? It was exactly what everyone else thought anyway! Beau was no different than any of the other rabble that the Gentleman employed, and Jester had been a fool to kid herself otherwise. She didn’t need another friend anyway! She’d only ever had one friend, really, and he’d never let her down. He’d always been enough.

And as she slumped down against her door, her breath slowly stabilizing, Jester felt him arrive. His warm green cloak settled in next to her, the presence of his body – not warmth, exactly, never warmth – pressed against her comfortingly, and the low, lilting voice of the Traveler drifted gently into her ears. “My dear Jester, whatever is the matter?” he asked.

“Oh it’s nothing, Traveler,” Jester sniffed, leaning into him. “You’re just really cool, you know?”

“I am, aren’t I?” The Traveler chuckled, then leaned in closely and placed one hand lightly on the side of Jester’s face. Jester leaned into it as comfort flowed from his hand and wrapped around her tightly, almost like a warm embrace. “And you know, always, that you are my favorite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took some time to figure out how I wanted this one to go. The bright side of all that time spent deliberating is that I now have a pretty good idea of where I'm going with this story. Hopefully you'll all like it as much as I do! If any of you wanted to offer speculation in the lovely, lovely comments, I wouldn't be opposed...


	4. What Meets the Eye

“Beauregard. Get up.”

Beau groaned, her head pounding and her stomach roiling, and sat up, looking around in bleary confusion. For a moment she thought she was back in her father’s house, recovering from a wild party and about to be scolded. But no, this room wasn’t near so nice, and there were no tabaxi in her father’s employ, not like the one standing in her doorway. Then her mind clicked back into gear, and Beau’s memories flowed back into her head. “What the fuck have I gotten myself into,” Beau groaned under her breath, too quiet for anyone else to hear.

Well, too quiet for a human to hear. Tabaxi have good ears. Cree gave a very slight smile. “If you are having second thoughts, you should keep them to yourself. The Gentleman has high hopes for you, and you impressed everyone last night with your prowess at emptying cups. We’d all be deadly disappointed if you decided to leave now.”

Beau took her meaning. She stood up, groaning as she did so, and cast around for a glass of water. Unfortunately, she apparently hadn’t thought to grab one when she staggered into bed last night. Fuck. She sure wasn’t going to ask for one now – this was not a place to show weakness. “I suppose the boss wants to see me?”

Cree nodded. “Come.” She turned and walked out of the room.

Beau rubbed her eyes and tried to quickly pat smooth her rumpled, travel-and-beer stained clothes, and followed.

She’d been bracing herself for the bright light of day, but underground as the tavern room was, it barely looked any different from the night before. Still full of people, but less so, and definitely more subdued. Most of them sat at tables near the walls, finishing off what looked like breakfast. Beau spotted the Sapphire gesturing animatedly to Thed with one hand while the other scooped porridge into her mouth. Judging by the residue around her mouth, her bowl had more sugar than porridge in it. Beau looked away quickly, feeling vaguely guilty.

The Gentleman sat at his table alone, save for Sorah, who loomed behind him as he neatly speared bites of egg. Did she ever take breaks?

Cree cleared her throat. “She is awake.”

The Gentleman looked up at Beau and smiled. “And how did you find your new accommodations, Beauregard?”

“Um, fine, I guess,” Beau said. “Do I have to play another card game, or are you going to tell me what you want me to do?”

“No patience?” asked the Gentleman mildly. “I may not be able to use you after all.”

Beau felt her stomach drop. Stupid. This was not someone to antagonize. A lucky game of cards and a night of free drinks did not make her safe. “I can be patient, or whatever,” she mumbled, unwilling to offer him more than that.

The Gentleman narrowed his eyes slightly, his expression unreadable. Beau silently cursed her hangover. Finally, he said, “Good. The people you’re going to be selling to will test that patience. They will expect you to wait on their pleasure.”

Who she’d be selling to? “I thought I’d be acquiring for you,” Beau said. “I thought my gifts last night proved-“

“They proved that you were serious about working for me,” the Gentleman said, cutting her off, “But pilfering Daddy’s wine cellar doesn’t make you a master thief.”

Beau stiffened. How did he know? But the Gentleman wasn’t done speaking.

“You talk like a noble,” he said, “And you played the game of words well last night. We haven’t been able to sell directly to a number of potential customers because we don’t have anyone who looks respectable enough to make contact. That will be your job. Cree will teach you, starting immediately.” The Gentleman paused, then waved a hand carelessly. “Get to it,” he said, turning away from them. “If you have a copper to spare, Clive might have some porridge left.”

“I’m good,” said Beau.

“Of course,” said the Gentleman, dismissing her.

Beau walked away from his table, regretting her knee-jerk rejection of breakfast. She could really use something to settle her roiling stomach. Maybe she could grab something while she was out in the city. Cities had places that sold food, right?

Cree tapped her on the shoulder. “Ready, then?”

Beau gave one last look around the room and grimaced. Fuck it. “Just a sec,” she said, and, squaring her shoulders, walked over to the Sapphire’s table. If the Sapphire noticed Beau’s approach, she gave no sign as she continued gesturing enthusiastically to Thed, though Beau could’ve sworn she saw the Sapphire’s eyes flick up and meet hers for just an instant as she approached. Beau stopped a few feet away, feeling awkward. She cleared her throat.

“Hey Sapphire.”

The Sapphire broke off mid-sentence and looked up at her. “Oh hi Beau, I didn’t see you there,” she said, smiling cherubically.

Thed grunted something that might’ve been a greeting. He didn’t look up. Beau didn’t care.

“I, um, wanted to apologize, or whatever,” said Beau haltingly, “for being rude to you last night. I, um-“ she cut off, not sure exactly what to say. _Sorry for getting upset that you almost got me killed by bringing me to your deranged father?_ _Sorry for seeing through his pretty words and actually noticing how little he gives a shit about you?_ Before she could decide what to say, though, the Sapphire spoke.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said brightly, “I’m sure you didn’t mean it!” She looked back to Thed and stood up. “Thanks for eating with me Thed,” she said, “but you should probably get to the sewers. I’m going to go play cards with my dad!” Without another glance at Beau, the Sapphire stood up from the table and swept away, her cloak and skirt billowing in her wake. Beau stared after her, feeling unsatisfied. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but that wasn’t it.

Thed stood up and gathered the Sapphire’s abandoned dishes. “You should probably get going, Beau. There’s a lot to do your first day,” he said softly. The expression on his face looked far too much like pity. Beau grunted, then turned abruptly on her heel and made her way back to Cree.

“Alright, let’s go,” said Beau, and she and Cree made their way up the stairs and exited the tavern.

* * *

It was strange, Beau thought, how different the city seemed in the cold light of the morning. Still busy, still full of people and buildings too close together, but somehow more sedate, less alien. She did her best not to get too lost in detail as they wound past shopfronts and alleys – it had been obvious to Beau as soon as they started moving that she had completely lost any sense of where she was in the city. She was determined to learn how to navigate Zadash unassisted.

With how much everyone had talked about how busy her day would be, Beau had expected to start meeting prospective clients immediately. Instead, Cree had given her a long, searching look before declaring that she needed new clothes. So Beau now found herself following the dark tabaxi on a circuitous route through the Innerstead Sprawl. Cree had been uninterested in conversation, answering Beau’s questions with terse, one-word answers, so Beau had relented, chiding herself to practice patience, and had contented herself with observing Cree’s mannerisms and behaviors to try to get a better sense of her. To Beau’s eye, Cree affected a convincing air of casual, unremarkable purpose, easily avoiding any significant scrutiny in spite of her unusual appearance. Still, her movements were too studied, too deliberately cautious for her to be as unconcerned as she wished to appear. What did not appear to be an act was Cree’s simple joy at simply being out and about, pausing every so often to simply let the morning air roll over her.

Beau wondered what her story was. The Gentleman employed a motley crew, but maybe they were less a collection of simple thugs and urchins than they first appeared. If the rest of them were less like Thed and more like Cree and the Sapphire, maybe Beau would enjoy her time here more than she expected.

Cree came to a stop in front of a small, cozy looking shop. “We’re here,” she said.

Beau looked up at the sign above the storefront. _Dekkar, Master Clothier,_ it read, with another, smaller sign advertising _Premade, Custom, and Alterations_. Beau looked at Cree. “I’m not sure about this,” she said. “I mean, I don’t have that much money.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. Consider it a work expense.” Cree walked through the door. After a moment’s hesitation, Beau followed.

The interior did nothing to quiet Beau’s apprehension. Her gaze was immediately caught by collection of prominently displayed dresses behind the counter, frothing masses of lace and chiffon in eye-watering jewel tones. All around hung bolts of fine cloth, satins and velvets and damasques and silks, dyed in a veritable rainbow of brilliant colors. Underneath these lurid hangings, however, the storefront was quite bare, a small empty floor with a few chairs, separated by a counter from the rest of the store.

Sitting behind the counter was a mountain of a man, a goliath who seemed nearly half again as tall as Sorah. He looked up as Beau and Cree entered the shop and smiled. He stood to his full height and leaned forward across the counter. “Cree!” he called out in a voice as deep and rumbling as an earthquake. “It’s good to see you again. What can I do for you today?”

Cree smiled warmly; the first time Beau had seen her do so. “Dekkar, it is good to see you too! I’m here on business, I’m afraid. Our mutual friend has need of your many gifts.”

Dekkar nodded quickly and looked at Beau. “This one?” he asked.

Cree nodded. “She must not look out of place in the Tri-Spire.”

Dekkar turned to Beau and smiled, extending a massive hand to her. “I’m Dekkar Steelborn,” he said.

Beau took his hand and shook, squeezing as hard as she could. Dekkar’s grip, in contrast, was astonishingly delicate. “Beau,” she said. If Dekkar noticed her overzealous grip, he didn’t indicate it.

“Beau,” he said warmly, “Any friend of the Gentleman is a friend of mine. I’ll have you looking magnificent before you leave my shop today.”

“Great, thanks,” Beau muttered, shifting uncomfortably as Dekkar gave her a long, searching look. His gaze seemed to pierce right through her travel-stained, hard-worn tunic and breeches, laying her bare as he evaluated her. She shuddered – she’d had this feeling often enough whenever her mother had gotten it into her head that Beau must have a new dress. She hated the insipid cooing of her mother’s favorite tailor as he draped her in lair after layer of rich cloth, telling her how precious and pretty she looked in a dress that somehow managed to be both so constricting she could barely breathe and so fragile that she couldn’t even walk without tearing it.

Then Dekkar blinked, and the spell was broken. Beau found herself struggling not to gasp for air as she dimly heard him say, “I have just the thing.” There was a rustling sound, and when she looked up Dekkar was vanishing into the expanse of shelves and racks behind the counter, leaving her alone with Cree in the garishly decorated front of the store.

Beau sat down, breathing heavily. Cree stared at her placidly. Furious at herself for her display, Beau took one deep breath through gritted teeth, then said, “Why is this necessary? What is the Tri-Spire?”

“The Tri-Spire is the richest, most affluent part of the city,” said Cree, “where most of the clients we want you to court reside. The entrances to the district are guarded, and anyone who doesn’t look sufficiently well-off is barred access. Moreover, the people you’ll be speaking to are part of the upper crust. If you are to convince them you are reputable, you need to be able to meet the same frivolous standard to which they hold their own.”

Cree crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, pausing for a moment before continuing, “You’re comely enough to look at underneath all that grime, but it’s not enough to have a pretty face and a quick wit if they take one look at you and make up their mind about your status immediately. The kind of people we need you to sell to barely think of poor people as _people_ , let alone as someone competent and cultured enough to find them the esoteric and refined luxuries that they so crave. You need to dress the part.”

“Yeah, I fucking know all that,” said Beau angrily. “If I’d wanted to spend my life jacking off the egos of rich fops that think the gods themselves shat them out, I’d’ve stayed in Kamordah. I don’t need the fucking Gentleman to do that.”

“Well we don’t always get what we want,” said Cree, her voice suddenly full of vitriol. “Sometimes our plans to become something else just land us right back where we started.”

She took a deep breath, her expression returning to neutral. “Look,” Cree said, impassive once again, though Beau thought she heard the barest note of sympathy, “I don’t know whose game you were being forced to play in Kamordah, but here you’ll be playing for the little guy. Pulling one over on the rich and powerful. Tricking them into thinking that they’re passing money around in their little in-group while actually distributing their wealth out to the cockroaches like us that they hate so much.”

Beau was spared from thinking of a response to this by Dekkar’s return. He swung a section of the counter open and looked at Beau with a smile. “I’ve set something out in the dressing room for you. Come try it on.”

Beau rose from her seat and followed Dekkar into the back, Cree close behind her. The shop looked very different from behind the counter. In contrast to the fanciful display at the front, most of the shelves seemed laden with bolts of simpler, more practical cloth, and most of the clothes on the racks looked simple and sturdy, though none of those that Beau glimpsed could truly be called plain – they were made too well and with too much care to ever be plain.

They approached a small stall off to one side, and Dekkar gestured for Beau to enter. With some trepidation, she opened the door and stepped inside. She was braced for a writhing mess of frills and taffeta, or at least some sort of long gown. What she saw hanging on the back wall of the stall was neither of those, however, and Beau could not stop a wide grin from spreading across her face.

It took only a few minutes for Beau to finish donning the navy blue suit and pants. They fit her close but seemed not to restrict her range of motion over much. She ran her fingers over the silky material of the pale grey shirt, then buttoned the jacket closed over it.

Beau stepped out of the dressing room with a slight spring in her step. She spread her arms wide, allowing the jacket to flex around her shoulders. “How’s this?” she asked Cree, unable to hide her satisfaction.

Cree looked her up and down, not quite managing to compose her face into professional detachment. “That will, um…” Cree trailed off, clearing her throat and wrenching her gaze up to look Beau in the eye. “That will do just fine,” she managed.

Beau smirked at her, then turned to Dekkar. “Thanks, man,” she said, trying her hardest to sound as sincere as she felt. “I, um, I really like it.”

“You wear it handsomely,” said Dekkar with a delighted smile. “This is the only one I have right now that I thought would fit, but I’ll alter a few others for you, and you can come pick them up tomorrow. Unbutton?” he asked.

Beau obliged him, and Dekkar circled her slowly, asking her to bend this way or that, checking the details of the fitting. Eventually, he nodded decisively. “I will make the rest fit you like a glove,” he declared. “Once you have others, leave this one with me and I’ll make a few adjustments so that it fits perfectly. Of course, I’ll leave a little bit of flexibility to allow for easy maneuvering or for concealing weapons or what have you. Do you ever bind? I can take in the chest a bit if you do, give you a closer fit.”

Beau shook her head, suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed. “No, that’s fine. This is great as is. You’ve done plenty.”

Dekkar smiled. “As you say, Beau. Don’t hesitate to bring them back in if you need any repairs or alterations.”

“We should be on our way,” said Cree. She shook Dekkar’s hand. “A pleasure as always, my friend.”

“Likewise,” Dekkar rumbled. “Don’t be a stranger!”

Cree smiled at him and exited the shop. Beau followed her out onto the street, still enjoying the feel of the clothes as she walked. “I didn’t realize our boss had that much pull with people,” she said.

Cree shrugged. “He’s always happy to help people who have useful skills or connections,” she said, “Especially people who have a bit of natural generosity to them. Much better to have people repay their debts willingly than at swordpoint.”

“How’d he get someone like that so happy to help him?”

“Dekkar had some bad blood with the Vadoma family. We reminded them that this is not Deastok, and that their presence in Zadash is not as strong as they had convinced themselves it was.”

“Huh.” Beau crossed her arms. “I didn’t realize we had the muscle to start shit because some tailor asked us to.”

“We don’t,” said Cree, but she didn’t seem inclined to elaborate further. “Now that you look the part, I think it’s time for you to start learning the job. I’ll introduce you to a few people who were willing to buy from the last person who had your job – they’ll be good practice for you to develop the skills you’ll need to land other customers, and some of them might even be able to make introductions if you impress them.”

As they walked away from Dekkar’s shop, Beau asked, “What happened to whoever had this job before me?”

“He decided he’d rather go into business for himself, and he financed his career change with the funds from several big sales that we had invested quite a bit in.” Cree smiled, looking almost predatory. “I can show you where we dumped his body later, if you like.”

* * *

The sun was setting by the time Cree called a halt, and Beau suspected it would be nearly full dark when they made it back to the Evening Nip. Her face hurt from smiling, and her stomach roiled uncomfortably. They’d taken lunch with an unctuous older man who had served them snail pie. Between that and her skipped breakfast, Beau was thoroughly ready for a proper meal. She tried to recall the man’s name, but it escaped her. Whatever, she’d remember later. He had been delighted to receive them, overjoyed at the thought that he would be able to work with a representative of the Gentleman again, now that he’d found one who wouldn’t seem too out of place. The man had a taste for spices from the Greying Wildlands, he had said, but no stomach for the import tariffs the Empire leveled on such goods. His was one of half a dozen orders that Beau had committed to memory. Cree had insisted that nothing be written down, which Beau understood, but that didn’t make it any less irritating.

Beau had to admit that Cree’s help and tutelage had been invaluable. The tabaxi had smoothly introduced Beau each time, and had spent each conversation inserting charming, clever comments that always managed to either nudge the client towards the business at hand or cover one of Beau’s admittedly many gaffs. She had been surprised at how difficult it had been to go back to playing by their ridiculous rules – it hadn’t been that long since she stopped even trying to play her father’s game. Moreover, the game here seemed different, subtler, deeper. Rural land barons had nothing on the merchant princes and idle rich of Zadash.

After Cree had smoothed over a careless insult that Beau had feared was going to explode into violence, Beau had found herself unable to understand one critical thing about the job.

“Why did the Gentleman need someone new for this?” she had asked as they walked away from the failed deal. “I mean, you seem like a fucking natural.”

Cree had hesitated for a moment before answering. “My people are not well-regarded here,” she had said slowly, tugging on her fur. “We have a reputation as thieves and bandits. And besides, I am known by too many people in this city. I’ve spilled too much blood. Maybe a human could get away with that, but not a tabaxi.”

Which just went to show that the city was no more civilized than the countryside. They just had more buildings.

“You did better than I thought you would today,” Cree said as they exited the Tri-Spire. “You’re a little rough around the edges, but you have a quicker wit than I gave you credit for, and you can actually be personable when you care to try.”

“I think I’d rather die than have to be that smiley and friendly all the time,” Beau grumbled, slightly annoyed at the backhanded compliment.

“So would your customers, I’m sure – your forced smiles are terrifying. Try the approach you took with our last one – that rakish carelessness seemed to work well for you. You didn’t freeze up, lash out, or run out of things to say. Just be careful that you’re no too disrespectful – a little attitude is charming, too much is infuriating.”

Beau stepped in front of Cree and turned to face her, walking backwards. “Oh? And do you think I’m charming, or am I infuriating?”

Cree smiled slightly. “I think you are barking up the wrong tree.”

“Sure I am,” Beau said with a cocky smile, “You definitely haven’t been sneaking glances at me ever since the tailor shop.” She stopped, and Cree almost walked into her. Beau placed a hand on Cree’s arm and started playing with her fur. “You seem to know so much about everything in this city. Surely you know a way for two women to unwind after a long day?”

The emotions that flashed across Cree’s face were too complicated for Beau to untangle, and they were gone far too quickly. She reached up and took Beau’s hand, pulling it away from her arm before releasing it. “Beauregard, I don’t get entangled with my coworkers. I strongly recommend you follow my lead on that too.”

“Why, can’t take a little workplace drama?” Beau asked with an insolent smile, egging her on.

“Because we are bad people to get entangled with,” Cree hissed, quiet and angry. “Friendship, comfort, intimacy, they all come at a price. You find yourself owing other people something, whether either of you intended it. It is far, far too easy to become attached, and the kind of people we have chosen to be are not the kind of people to become attached to. Inevitably, they will die or betray you.” Cree’s eyes were blazing, an emotional rawness that almost seemed to physically push Beau back. “We are only mortal, so it can’t be helped that we need comfort and release, emotional and physical,” she continued, “but I choose not to owe anyone for that comfort anything but money. I suggest you do the same.”

Cree retrieved a few coins from a pouch on her belt and dropped them into Beau’s hand. “The Gentleman is friendly with the Madam of the Shuttered Candle. I’m sure she can find you someone to help you unwind.” Cree pushed past Beau and stormed off down the street, leaving Beau standing in the road, completely blindsided.

* * *

It was well past dark when Beau staggered into the secret tavern under the Evening Nip, already slightly intoxicated and very sore. It seemed much different than it had the day before when she first arrived. Instead of a surrealist nightmare that closed in all around, pushing her ever on, it just looked like a bar that was past peak hours. Some patrons still sat up at tables, nursing drinks and chatting, but just as many were slumped over their tables completely unconscious, and she was sure that many others had already vanished into the rows of rooms overlooking the bar area to get some proper sleep.

Beau walked up to the bar where Seamus was cleaning a glass. He looked up as Beau threw her whole weight onto the bar and leaned towards him. “Seamus. Buddy. I need dinner right now.”

Seamus looked at her in surprise, taking in her rumpled suit and disheveled hair. Beau angrily tried to flatten it. “You missed dinner,” said Seamus mildly. “I can whip up something new, but it’ll cost extra.”

“Money could not matter less to me right now.”

“Fair enough. What are you wanting?”

“Literally anything. I’ve never been this hungry in my life.”

Seamus smiled. “I’ve got just the thing.”

As Seamus vanished into the back, Beau walked over to an empty table and collapsed down into a chair next to it. She had been sitting still for some time, wishing she’d asked for a drink before Seamus had left the bar, when she heard the sound of chair legs scraping and looked up to see Thed sitting down next to her, carrying two tankards of beer. He pushed one over to her.

“Thanks man,” said Beau, taking a large gulp.

“Rough first day?” asked Thed, leaning forward slightly. “You look like you’ve been through the ringer.”

Beau laughed. “Actually, that was the best part of the day. Mostly I’ve been learning how to kiss ass.”

“Oh yeah, there would be a lot of that wouldn’t there,” said Thed with a chuckle. “You should come run cargo through the sewers with me. Much more fun. Granted, you’ll still be tasting ass most days, but at least you don’t have to look at the rich pricks.”

“That’s gross, man,” Beau laughed, “but I bet it’s more exciting. Think the boss would let me switch?”

“Probably not. You’d have to get really good at kissing ass to sell him on that one.”

“That’s too bad.” Beau took another drink. “Cree was a damn good teacher, though.”

“She’s clever, that one. Hope you listened close to whatever she had to say.”

“I did. She helped a lot with the job, and she, uh, she gave me some good advice.” Absentmindedly, Beau scanned the room for the Sapphire, but she didn’t appear to be around. She must’ve already gone to bed. The Gentleman’s table was empty too. Guess he had to sleep sometimes too.

“Good,” said Thed, “I’d hate for you to get yourself stabbed. I swear, nobles are a bigger bunch of backstabbers than anyone else I’ve ever met.” He gave Beau a searching, pensive look. “Present company excluded, I hope.”

“I’m no noble,” said Beau, “and I only stab people who deserve it.”

“Is that so?” Thed chuckled. “Do you even know how to use a dagger?”

“Sure,” said Beau blithely, “You stab with it.”

Thed looked at her incredulously. “Gods above, girl, now I’m worried about you. Stand up, show me your technique.”

Beau stood up awkwardly. “I, um, I don’t have a-“

“You don’t even have a dagger!?” exclaimed Thed incredulously. “And what exactly were you planning to do when some plumped up fop decides he doesn’t like how his wife’s looking at you and decides to make it your problem?”

“Punch him in the face and blow her a kiss?”

Thed laughed. “You really are something, Beau. I won’t have you dying on me. Here.” With a flick of his wrist, a well-worn dagger appeared in his hand, hilt towards Beau. “I’m going to teach you how to fight like a proper bastard.”

Beau reached out and took the knife. Its balance felt good, as far as she could tell. “Thanks Thed. You’ll regret it once I start kicking your ass though.”

Thed gave a wicked grin. “Those are fighting words, Beauregard,” he said. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”

“Wait!” Beau yelled as Thed lurched towards her. He hesitated, looking at her quizzically. “Please, let me fucking eat first.”

Seamus stepped around Thed and placed a steaming plate on the table and held out a hand. Beau dumped some coins into it, then sat down. She breathed in deep, savoring the smell of actual food. As she realized what it was, Beau snorted and rolled her eyes, before digging in to her plate of fish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof, this one was tough. Who would've thought that this chapter, of all things, would take 6 rewrites before I was somewhat satisfied with it? This covered maybe half of what I originally planned to cover in this chapter, but I felt like the details covered here were important and worthwhile, so it became two chapters instead! Hopefully the next one will be easier, but I definitely need to rethink its structure a bit. Thank you all for your patience with me, and please leave any thoughts or opinions in the comments! I live and breathe feedback!


	5. Some Kind of Normal

Beau’s life quickly took on a new routine. Each morning, she woke and dressed quickly in one of the four smart suits Dekkar had provided her before grabbing a plate of whatever shit Clive had thrown together for breakfast. It was nearly always terrible, miles away from the skillfully prepared and elegantly presented meals her father’s chef had always made. For that reason alone, Beau relished every bite, but she found herself enjoying the rough companionship of the others of the Gentleman’s Troupe too. Most mornings she ate with Thed, who always seemed to resent being awake before noon. Beau enjoyed the silence, though. It gave her a chance to observe the rest of the Troupe and try to piece together the personalities that comprised this motley crew. From time to time Cree would sit with them. She was happy to join in Beau’s people-watching, and her wry observations and occasional bits of trivia that she had picked up from her time working with them were always much more entertaining than what Beau would have come up with on her own.

After breakfast, it would be a short conference with the Gentleman. Sometimes he’d have specific merchandise that Beau’s contacts had requested, or he’d have something valuable that he wanted Beau to shop around and find a buyer for. Sometimes the smaller items would be given to Beau’s care directly, but usually she was given a slip of paper with directions to where the item could be retrieved. It was safer for her that way.

“After all,” the Gentleman had said, that hint of malice in his eye, “we wouldn’t want someone robbing your corpse for your treasures. And it would be just as bad for you if an item entrusted to you were to mysteriously disappear. There are so many pickpockets in this city, after all.”

Beau’s opinion of her new boss had not improved. The best she could say of him was that he ran a smooth operation, but his continuous threats layered beneath just enough politeness and pretense of concern to be deniable rankled. It didn’t help that she seemed alone in her dislike of him. That the Sapphire would adore him was understandable, but that people as seemingly canny as Thed and Cree would feel any sense of loyalty to such a slimy man astonished her.

When Beau had voiced this opinion to Thed one evening over drinks, he had shaken his head slowly as though she were being ridiculous. “He’s consistent,” Thed had said seriously, “and that’s rarer than you might think in his line of work. Most gang bosses, they go a little power mad. Like to flex their muscles, push people around and punish them for anything, just to prove they can. Those kinds of people aren’t safe to work with, and they don’t tend to stay afloat very long. The Gentleman, though, he’d already been running this operation for nearly a decade when I showed up, and he’s played by the same rules the whole time I’ve been with him. I know I can trust him to honor his word and to treat me fairly. That’s more than you can say of most of his kind.”

Beau spent most of her days wandering the city, travelling from client to client, or else scouting for new ones. The initial contacts she’d made that first day had proven good jumping off points, and after their first deliveries had come in, they had been happy to recommend her to some of their friends. Actually locking down those potential clients proved to be a little more involved. Beau spent long hours in studies and parlors listening to rich assholes pontificate about concerns and details of their lives so mind-numbingly trivial that it was all she could do to sit still. All the while, she had to focus on playing her role, the dashing, cultured rogue who always had a clever insight or a scandalous quip. It was all disturbingly similar to the bullshit her father had put her through back when he’d still intended to make something of her, but Beau found that she didn’t mind as much as she had expected. Maybe it was just that her role this time was so much more fun than the demure, dutiful daughter she’d been expected to act back then.

When the sun began to set, Beau would make her way back to the Evening Nip, reporting new orders to the Gentleman and dropping off any coin she’d received. She’d take dinner with Thed, who was always much more animated in the evenings than he was in the mornings. After a few drinks, Thed would always insist that Beau get out her dagger and practice with him. This usually drew a few watchers – Beau gathered that she wasn’t very good – and their heckling and jeering made it a less than relaxing endeavor. After a few nights, though, Beau found herself less bothered by her onlookers. Maybe she’d gotten better quickly, or the novelty had worn off, or maybe they’d just gotten less creative with their insults. She started actually kind of enjoying the attention. It felt familiar – friendly, even.

She’d been so focused on figuring out her new job, her new situation, her new colleagues, that it came as a shock when, at the end of her first week, the Gentleman dropped a small bag of coins into her hand at the end of her report.

“I’d say you’ve more than earned that,” he said. “Congratulations on surviving your first week with us.” He raised a glass to her in toast. “Here’s to many more like it. I think we’re going to make each other very rich.”

Beau made her way to the bar, feeling confused and happy. “Get me something fancy,” she told Seamus, “but nothing from Kamordah.”

“Make that two!” called a voice from behind her, and Beau turned to see Thed approaching. He gave her a smile and a wink. “She’s buying.”

“That so?” asked Beau. “When did I get generous?”

Thed laughed. “Figured you’d want to spend some of your hard-earned money. You’ve been awfully patient waiting for that payout. Most newcomers bug the boss about it at least twice before it actually gets around to payday. They don’t trust him not to cheat them. You seemed confident that he’d come through for you, though.”

Seamus set two glasses of white wine down in front of her. Beau rolled a coin over in her hand pensively for a moment before handing it to him. “I dunno,” she said. “I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.”

Thed looked at her like she’d just grown a third head. “Let me get this straight-“

“Unlikely but go on.”

“-you go to all the trouble of convincing me and the Sapphire to take you with us to Zadash to work for the greatest smuggler in Wynandir, give away some incredibly valuable bottles of wine to earn an audience with him, spend a week selling illegal services to some of the most affluent people in the city, any of whom could get you thrown in prison if they cared to, and you weren’t even thinking about getting paid?” Thed shook his head incredulously. “Who the fuck are you?”

Beau shrugged, then picked up her drink and headed over to their table. Thed followed.

Beau took a sip of the wine. It was surprisingly sweet, but good. “Maybe I just wanted out of Kamordah.”

“It seemed like a nice enough place when we went through. Trying to get away from a shitty family or something?”

“No, I had a great relationship with my family,” Beau said, her voice dripping sarcasm. “Can’t you tell by how well-adjusted I am?”

“Fine, I don’t mean to pry,” said Thed, raising his hands apologetically. “My folks aren’t great either. They’re farmers in Felderwin. Never look up from their plows, never wonder about the world beyond their fields.”

“Wow. That’s tough, man. Really.”

“You’re an asshole, Beauregard.”

“Yeah, well, what else is new?” Beau lifted her glass and took a large gulp of wine. When she set lowered her cup, the Sapphire was standing right next to her.

Beau nearly fell out of her chair. “Fuck, you scared me!”

“Why, am I scary?” asked the Sapphire innocently. Thed snorted into his drink. Beau threw him her best poisonous glare. “I want to ask you a question,” said the Sapphire.

“Okay,” said Beau, hesitantly.

“Who is your competition?”

“Huh?”

“The people you sell to, who else do they buy from?” the Sapphire clarified impatiently.

“I’m, uh, I’m not sure. They haven’t really talked about it. Doesn’t seem like good form.” Beau narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“Oh no reason!” said the Sapphire cheerily, “but if you could find out for me, it would be super-duper.”

“I’ll try?”

“Great!” The Sapphire stood up, smiling. “Thanks Beau!” She skipped away.

Beau turned towards Thed. “I do not get her.”

Thed smiled slightly, taking another drink. “Some of the Troupe think she’s secretly the Gentleman’s coldest, most merciless assassin, and that she’s just putting on an act to throw off suspicion. The ones even dumber than that think she’s just an empty-headed little girl.”

“Oh yeah? And what do you think?”

“I think she’s a very happy person who gets a big kick out of fucking with people. I traveled alone with her for a while, remember? She’s impulsive, sure, but she’s clever enough to get clear of pretty much any trouble she gets herself into, and she sees a lot more than she lets on. Picking you up, that was her idea, remember? And look how you’ve turned out!” Thed toasted Beau and drained his glass. “She’ll be running things here in a few more years, mark my words.”

Beau gazed at the Sapphire contemplatively, now at the bar chatting animatedly to Seamus, and wondered if that was what the Sapphire wanted.

The next evening, Beau sought out the Sapphire as soon as she entered the Evening Nip. She was sitting alone at a corner table, her tongue protruding slightly from pursed lips as she scribbled furiously in a sketch book. Beau smirked and started approaching silently, determined to sneak up on her, but she’d barely taken two steps when the Sapphire’s head snapped up from her drawing. Seeing Beau, she smiled and waved her over.

“Hey Beau, how was work?” she asked brightly.

“Fine,” said Beau, sitting down across from her. “I, um, got some of the names you wanted.”

“Really!?” asked the Sapphire, her eyes shining. “Who are they?”

Beau slid her a scrap of paper on which she’d scribbled two names. The Sapphire picked it up and read it eagerly. “Those weren’t easy to get, by the way,” Beau said, a little defensively. “Most of my clients thought I wanted to kill the competition. I was lucky to even get answers from two of them.”

“These will do great, thank you Beau!” The Sapphire leaned quickly across the table and hugged her. Caught completely by surprise, Beau hung limply in the Sapphire’s arms, her mind a blank. Before she could decide whether to hug back or extricate herself, the Sapphire released her.

Feeling shaken and befuddled and maybe a bit too warm, Beau tugged awkwardly on her sleeves. She cast around for something to say. Her eyes settled on the Sapphire’s open sketchbook. One page was covered with a lurid caricature of Clive, eyes red and popping from his sockets, running full speed from a pink and bright blue unicorn attempting to charge him down. Beau looked closer and felt a laugh rise in her throat as she realized that, in place of the unicorn’s horn, the Sapphire had drawn an enormous veiny dick.

The drawing on the opposite page appeared incomplete. It depicted some kind of bird, Beau thought, but there were many details missing. A couple of feathers in its tale had been beautifully illuminated in subtle shades of cream and off-white, and a black and grey dot set in the tip of the feather almost resembled an eye. Maybe a peacock, then?

The Sapphire snapped her sketchbook shut, and Beau started. She realized she’d been staring and cleared her throat. “What did you want the names for?”

“Oh, it’s for a job, you know.” The Sapphire smiled. “Right now I’m doing something pretty cool.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!” Her smile widened.

Beau grinned back. “I’ll bite,” she said playfully. “What does the Gentleman have you do?”

“You mean you don’t know? I thought you were good at finding things out.”

“I know some people think you’re an expert killer, and some people think you’re just a pretty face.”

The Sapphire cocked an eyebrow at her. “And what do you think?” she asked sweetly.

Beau smiled ruefully. “I wouldn’t presume to know you, Sapphire.”

The Sapphire’s smile flickered for just a moment. “Wouldn’t you?” she asked, in a tone that almost passed for light.

Beau’s smile melted. “I apologized for that.”

The Sapphire stood abruptly, gathering her art supplies quickly. “You did,” she said matter-of-factly, “and I told you not to worry about it. You can think whatever you like of me.” She gave Beau a faint smile. “I’ll see you later Beau.”

Beau wanted to say something, but she wasn’t sure what. Before she could find words, the Sapphire was gone.

To Beau’s pleasant surprise, though, the very next night, the Sapphire plopped herself down at Beau and Thed’s usual table for dinner. From then on, she would join them for meals every couple of days, her bubbly laughter and enthusiastic conversation all but literally brightening their corner of the Evening Nip. Beau enjoyed her conversation, but she always felt a certain undercurrent of tension that kept her choosing her words carefully. She couldn't seem to figure out what the Sapphire’s job was, and she didn’t ask again.

The Sapphire, for her part, was constantly asking Beau about her job. Every meal, she asked if Beau had found any more names, and every meal Beau told her no. If that had been the extent of it, Beau would’ve gotten annoyed with it fast, but the Sapphire always followed it up with detailed questions about the people and their oddities, and she seemed genuinely interested in Beau’s responses.

Easily Beau’s favorite of her contacts was one she had met only a few days after gathering names for the Sapphire. She’d been talking business with a famous sculptor at his salon when a delicate, nervous looking elven man in dark blue robes had approached her and introduced himself as Zeenoth. He was an archivist, he’d said, interested in acquiring some rare books. He’d had a list of titles he was interested in, and had asked Beau to come find him at the Valley Archive of the Cobalt Soul the next day to tell him whether or not she’d be able to get them, and also to tell him if there were any other books she currently had that she was looking to sell.

When she’d presented herself at the enormous building the next morning, an attendant in dark blue robes had showed her to a bench overlooking a large, open atrium. They had apologetically told her that Zeenoth was very busy and that he would be with her as soon as he could. Bored, she’d picked up a book sitting unattended on a table by the bench. Flipping through it, she’d quickly found herself utterly absorbed in an account of the rise and fall of the Julous Dominion. Some of it was familiar – the tutors her father had hired had lectured on the subject once or twice, but Beau had never payed them much mind. This account was elegantly written, with an engaging style that had her rapt attention.

She was so absorbed in her reading that it came as a surprise when Zeenoth finally arrived.

“I see you are enjoying our library, Ms. Beau,” he said, sitting down on the bench next to her.

Beau closed the book. “Just Beau,” she grunted, then quickly slid her best roguish smile into place. “And I think your library is fantastic. Rexxuntrum’s might be bigger, but I enjoy the atmosphere her much more.”

“You’ve been to the archive in Rexxuntrum?” asked Zeenoth, clearly surprised.

“Of course,” Beau lied smoothly, “I’ve been many places. This is one of the best, though. You should be proud.”

Zeenoth looked pleased, and Beau felt her smile deepen. Good to see he was susceptible to flattery. She stood up and walked to the edge of the balcony to look down at the atrium. To her surprise, it was no longer empty. Dozens of people clad in loose blue clothes had filled it and appeared to be training. Sweat poured off some as they performed push-ups and pull-ups and stranger exercises at lightning speed, while others circled each other in pairs, their fists a flurry of motion as they struck and deflected and struck again. The precision and physical control was beyond anything Beau had ever seen.

“They are magnificent, aren’t they?” said Zeenoth, joining her. “Watching the monks does sometimes make me wish I’d chosen to follow their path, but someone must be responsible for the overall well-being of our collection.”

“Hmm,” Beau responded absently. Her curiosity warred with her desire to appear well-informed. “I’ve never had the chance to watch them train before,” she said, hoping that Zeenoth would take the opportunity to pontificate. He seemed the sort to do so. She was disappointed, however.

“To business?” Zeenoth asked, turning to face her.

Beau wrenched her gaze away and smiled at him. “Sure,” she said, and then listed off every book the Gentleman had for sale, and each of the books that he expected to be able to acquire from Zeenoth’s list. She also listed off her initial prices for each of them – she preferred to ask for about 25% more than what she would actually accept.

When she finished, Zeenoth just nodded. “Those sound reasonable to me. I’ll take them all.”

Beau did her best to conceal her astonishment and elation. That was the easiest, largest sale she’d ever made! In as even a voice as she could manage, she said, “Archivist, I think this partnership is going to be something special. Just to be clear,” she asked quickly, frowning slightly, “am I dealing with you specifically, or with the Archive as a whole?”

“Officially, the Cobalt Soul has no interest in where I acquire the tomes that I choose to donate from my personal collection,” Zeenoth answered smoothly, “but as long as you don’t bring us any trouble, I think everyone here will be happy to work with you.”

“It’s nice to be appreciated.”

“One other quick matter,” said Zeenoth, quietly. He gestured to the atrium below. “Those monks have certain, let’s say limitations, imposed on them while they live and train here, for the sake of internal security and the safety of the collection. Since they know that I handle some of our outreach and acquisitions, a few of them have asked me about getting them some items and luxuries that are not technically allowed. If you would be willing to collect some of these items and deposit them in a particular vase down in that atrium, I would be happy to pay you well for the trouble.”

“It’ll depend on the item,” said Beau, frowning. This could get complicated.

“As it happens, I have a list right here.”

Beau scanned the piece of paper that Zeenoth handed her and had to fight down laughter. Aside from a few requests for things like tobacco and questionable medicinals, it read like the wish list of a child in a candy shop.

“I should be able to get you these just fine. I’m surprised that someone wants erotica,” she said, tapping a line item that read “Trashy novellas”, “seeing as they live in a library.”

“The Cobalt Soul is concerned with the preservation of knowledge, Ms. Beau,” said Zeenoth primly, “not with providing titillation.”

“Cool.” Beau gave the list one last look, committing it to memory, then handed it back. “I’ll be here tomorrow with the agreed upon merchandise to receive payment. If your monks need anything else, let me know.”

From then on, there was rarely a day that Beau did not find herself in the towering archive. Zeenoth’s desire for new books had proven insatiable, and his pockets apparently bottomless. The Gentleman had been thrilled and had quickly started putting out feelers for more books. The monks of the Cobalt Soul proved a voracious bunch as well, and Zeenoth nearly always had a new order for her as soon as she dropped off the previous one.

While she waited for him to see her – seriously, what was he doing that he couldn’t bother to be on time to their regular meetings? – Beau liked to watch the monks train. Their fighting style, their easy, fluid motions, the elegance and power wrapped up in their physical forms was entrancing. It put to shame the jerky, reactive dagger play that Thed had taught her, and she suspected that these librarian monks could fight the entire Righteous Brand by themselves if they cared to. It didn’t hurt that the exercise regime seemed to melt away every hint of softness from their frames until the monks looked practically chiseled from stone. The way some of those women looked as they moved, shoulders rippling, sweat dripping down their abs as they struck at their opponents with a look of intense concentration on their faces, so much physical power so finely controlled, totally focused, and barely contained, well – Beau had definitely been visiting the Shuttered Candle more often since she’d gotten her library card.

Not that that was the only appeal the massive library held for her. One night, about three weeks since her arrival in Zadash, Beau found herself discussing the Archive at length with the Sapphire. Thed was working late, apparently, and they’d all but finished their dinner.

“-the sheer number is just ridiculous!” Beau was saying, gesturing animatedly. “Like, if someone nudged a shelf wrong, they’d fucking bury me. It’d take weeks to dig me out, and I don’t think paper’s filling enough to keep me alive that long!”

“At least you wouldn’t be bored!” said the Sapphire, jabbing her fork in Beau’s direction. “There’d have to be at least one book in there you haven’t read yet.”

“Sapphire, there is more in that library than I could read in a thousand lifetimes,” Beau jabbed a last bite of potato. “I just wish it wasn’t all so interesting,” she said around the mouthful of food. “Like the other day, I was reading this account about some mage from the Age of Arcanum named Haul-ass-“

“Oh my god really? That’s his name?”

“I mean, I’m not an expert, but I choose to believe that that’s how his name is pronounced.”

“Wizards all have such dumb names, you know?”

“I know right?” said Beau. “There is nothing less sexy than a wizard.”

The Sapphire smiled. “All your reading sounds really interesting or whatever, but none of those books sound even half as cool as what they have over at Chastity’s Nook.”

“Is that shop where you bought those porn pamphlets for me?”

“Uh huh!” said the Sapphire enthusiastically, “And you saw how good those were! Just imagine how much better all of the real books there are.”

“They’d have to be,” said Beau, rolling her eyes. “Muscly draconian men are not for me.”

“Well, right now I’m reading this really amazing one called _Tusk Love_ , it’s about this super handsome half orc named Oskar who falls in love with this super sweet merchant’s daughter named Guinevere-“

“Sapphire, you know that that doesn’t exactly do it for me.”

“It’s not just smut, Beau!” said the Sapphire insistently. “It’s a love story! It’s about a love that transcends boundaries and brings two people from different worlds together! Specifically it brings his dick and her pussy together, and sometimes his dick and other things, but that’s not the point! Everyone loves love!”

“Uh huh,” said Beau, trying not to sound quite as skeptical as she felt.

“Or if you don’t like that one, you should come to the shop with me sometime! I’m sure we can find something for you there!”

Beau smiled. “I think I’d like that.”

“Great!” said the Sapphire, smiling back.

Beau held eye contact for just a moment too long. The silence that followed wasn’t quite comfortable. She looked around the room, then up towards the door, hoping that Thed would choose this moment to arrive. No such luck. She turned back towards the Sapphire and cleared her throat awkwardly, hoping something to say would come to her. The Sapphire beat her to it.

“You know what you should do the next time you go to the Cobalt Soul?” she said, half whispering as she leaned across the table towards Beau.

Beau leaned in slightly as well. “What should I do?” she whispered back.

The Sapphire regarded her solemnly. “You should draw some dicks in a book,” she said seriously.

Beau blinked once. Then she burst out laughing.

“See?” said the Sapphire delightedly. “Think how funny it would be for the next person. One minute they’re reading about Lord Fruffington of Whats-his-butt and his tax laws or whatever, then – Bam! Dick.”

Beau composed herself and said, her voice as stable as she could manage, “Sapphire, I can’t risk my business relationship with the Cobalt Soul just to draw a few dicks.” She stared at her gravely. “I could only risk it to draw a _bunch_ of dicks.”

When their laughter subsided enough to speak, the Sapphire stood up, wiping tears away. “I’d better get to bed – it’s like, really late. Tell Thed I said hi when he comes in!”

“Will do,” said Beau. “Goodnight Sapphire.”

“Goodnight Beau.”

Beau sat up a long time after that, watching the bar empty around her as the rest of the Gentleman’s Troupe made their way to bed. Still, Thed didn’t show up, and eventually Beau was forced to call it a night. She’d just have to give him shit about it at breakfast.

But Thed wasn’t back in the morning either.

* * *

Jester sat in a dark corner table at the back of the Leaky Tap, slowly sipping milk and trying not to fall asleep. She’d been staking this place out for three days now, and she had long since run out of interesting subjects to draw while she waited for her quarry to show up.

It had taken her a long time to fully investigate the names Beau had gotten for her. It had taken her over a week just to determine that the first person on the list didn’t work for the White Peacocks. Finding out that the other one did hadn’t taken nearly so long, but it had been hard to get people to help her find him. Eventually she’d been told that he occasionally sold to Wessek the Trim at the Leaky Tap, so here she was, waiting to see if he’d come back.

When the door opened and a new figure entered the bar, she almost didn’t bother to look. She was so bored, and so tired, and she’d seen so many people who weren’t him. But she did look, and there he was.

Tellion Gill was the name he went by, and as he sauntered up to the bar, Jester had to wonder how he could possibly be doing the same kind of job Beau was doing. The single word that came to mind when looking at him was “greasy”. Tellion was a halfling with overlong black hair that he had gelled into some sort of awkward poof at the top of his head, and a ridiculously long, thin mustache was likewise held up with wax. His walk might’ve been an attempt at a saunter, but it looked more like a waddle, as if his underwear were too tight. How anyone could choose to deal with him when Beau was around, with all of her easy grace and wicked smiles, was beyond her.

Jester knew she should let him finish his business with Wessek and catch him on the way out, but with victory so close, she couldn’t bear the thought of sitting in this shitty bar even one more second than she had to. She drew a thin sheet of magic over herself, just like the Traveler had taught her, and her disguise fell into place. Anyone who looked at her now would see a bright pink tiefling with hair like cotton candy and horns dripping in jewels. She hopped to her feet and hurried to intercept Tellion before he reached Wessek.

As soon as she was in motion, all eyes turned towards her, and as if sensing the movement around him, Tellion turned to face her. His mouth fell open slightly at the sight of her.

“Oh hello!” Jester called to him as she approached. “You must be Tellion! I need you to help me, and I have a lot of money to give you if you do!”

Tellion closed the distance between them quickly, his eyes flashing angrily. “If you have business for me, you could stand to be more discrete about it,” he hissed at her.

“Oh, sorry!” Jester whispered dramatically at him

He rolled his eyes. “What do you need?”

“Oh, it’s very simple! I want 100 gallons of Swelvain Basilisk venom! In two weeks.”

Tellion laughed. “Lady, you are on one. No one in this city has a tenth of that on hand, and no one could move that much that fast.”

“The Gentleman didn’t agree,” said Jester sweetly, “Though he did tell me that he was the only one in the city who could do it, and he demanded double payment from me for it.”

“That slippery bastard would say that,” said Tellion, his eyes narrowing. “How much did you offer him originally?”

“20,000 gold pieces. A gallon.” Jester continued to smile placidly as Tellion’s eyes practically popped out of his face. Then he furrowed his brows in suspicion.

“That’s nearly twice the market price, even with the empire’s taxes,” he said. “Why would you offer that much?”

“Well, like I said, I need it fast. You know how the empire is about ‘dangerous imports’,” said Jester, rolling her eyes. “Can you do it? My other option is to pay 40,00 gold pieces a gallon, so I’d be willing to negotiate my price.”

“Let’s say 30,000. For 30,000 a gallon, we can get you your venom in two weeks.”

“Great!” said Jester. Now for the kill. “If you happen to have any already on hand, I’d love to get started with my work immediately. I’ll wait here for an hour. Any venom you can bring me before I leave for the night, I’ll pay double for.”

“Double?” said Tellion incredulously, his eyes the size of dinner plates. “An hour? Don’t you go anywhere, miss… uh, what was your name?”

“Fan,” said Jester, her smile widening. Got him. “Ms. Fan Si Panz.”

“Ms. Panz. I’ll be right back.” Tellion bowed deeply, then turn and ran from the bar.

The moment he was out of sight, Jester dropped her illusion. She took a deep breath, then followed him.

Tellion wasn’t hard to keep up with. His attempts to sprint made it impossible for him to hide, and his appearance was distinctive enough that she was unlikely to lose track of him. Even if he was looking for a tail, Jester didn’t think she’d draw his attention, not when her disguise had been so much more eye-catching. Still, she remembered her dad’s warning to be careful, so she followed as stealthily as she could.

It had been a week since Thed had gone missing. The Gentleman had answered inquiries about his absence glibly, saying that he was on a special mission that needed to be kept quiet for now. Privately, he had told Jester the truth – he had no idea what had happened.

“He ran his route as usual for most of the day, my dear, and somewhere between his last pickup and the Evening Nip he vanished. If a rival of ours caught him flat-footed in the sewers without leaving any sign of a fight, then it’s far too dangerous to send anyone after him,” he had said. “Thed is not an amateur. And I can think of no reason why he would desert us after all these years. Besides, if he did cut and run with our merchandise, no one has seen him. I think it far more likely that we have a new and dangerous enemy. So go carefully, my Sapphire, in this investigation of yours. I do not want you to go missing next.”

So Jester had gone carefully, and she admonished herself not to abandon care now, when she was so close to success. Earlier that week, she had fallen asleep at the Leaky Tap and had not returned until well until the morning. She had not expected to find Beau waiting up for her, at least eight drinks in and very pale.

“Beau! What are you doing up so late? Early?” she had said with a yawn.

“Right, cause I’m going to go to bed while a friend is missing. That worked out so well last time.” Beau had avoided making eye contact, instead taking another large drink of her whisky.

“What am I supposed to do if you vanish too?” she had continued, her words slurred and somewhere between angry and afraid, “make friends with Dweez?”

“You know, Dweez is actually really nice,” Jester had said lightly. “Maybe you should give him a chance, even if he is kind of weird. Besides, Thed is fine. He’s just on a secret mission, remember?”

The look Beau had given her was poisonous. “Whatever, Sapphire. Go tell your fucking dad you’re back – I’m _sure_ he’s sick with worry.”

Jester still felt a little bad about lying to Beau – it was obvious she was worried about Thed – but there was no way she was going to go against her dad just to tell her the truth. Beau might be fun to talk to and hang out with, but they weren’t friends. Jester wasn’t going to forget that just because Beau found it convenient to pretend otherwise for a night.

Finally, Tellion came to a stop, breathing hard, in an alley between a painter’s shop and a run-down gambling hall. Breathing a quick prayer to the Traveler, Jester slid quietly into the alley after him, ducking behind a small pile of accumulated trash and peering over the edge of it at him. She needed to see which building he went into, and how he got in, and she needed to hear what was said.

To her slight surprise, Tellion, knocked on the side of the painter’s shop, in a quick, distinctive rhythm. As Jester watched, a section of the bare wall swung open, and a tabaxi man emerged. He spoke in a low, raspy rhythm.

“Tellion,” he said, sounding surprised, “you’re back early. What’s happened?”

“Kryath, you’ve gotta get me those bottles of basilisk venom right now. I have a customer who’s paying 60,000 gold a gallon if we get it to her in the hour!”

“What?” asked Kryath, looking as if Tellion had gone mad.

“Yeah, I know, but this is a once in a lifetime opportunity! We can get some more for that Assembly fellow who ordered this batch, she wants a bunch more in two weeks, we can bring some extra up then! But she’s paying double in the next hour, so come on!” Tellion was practically bouncing up and done with impatient desperation. Jester snickered slightly – his poof was falling over.

“That is a lot of money she offered you,” said Kryath suspiciously. “Did she show you this money?”

“I didn’t ask, I was in a hurry!” said Tellion, practically yelling. “Look, just go downstairs and tell the boss, we don’t have time for this!”

That was all Jester needed. This was their base. Her dad was going to be so impressed. She backed away from the garbage pile and turned to leave the alley and bounced right off the person standing behind her.

Jester fell to the ground and looked up to see two enormous figures looming over her. The one she had crashed into appeared to be an orc man, his tusks long and carved in intricate patterns. Rusty chainmail was visible through a hole in his leather coat, and he carried a heavy hammer in his right hand. To his left, standing a little behind him, was a muscular human woman, nearly as tall as him, with long dark hair in a series of elaborate braids. Her makeup looked like war paint. The hilt of a greatsword peaked over her shoulder.

Jester scrambled to her feet as the orc stepped towards her. “Going somewhere?” he asked, smiling dangerously.

“No! Of, of course not!” said Jester, her mind racing. She heard the conversation behind her cease and felt a surge of panic.

The orc took another step towards her, and Jester pounced, pressing her hand to his face and channeling a surge of necrotic magic through her fingertips. He screamed horribly and toppled backwards as her hand glowed a bright green and a horrible black blight spread across his cheek and down his neck. Jester pulled her hand away from him, and he collapsed completely. She could see the street beyond him. She took a step towards it, about to break into a run –

Blinding pain exploded through her body, obliterating her vision for a moment and sending her crashing to her knees. Jester’s hands went to her chest and came away bloody from the enormous slash running from navel to her collarbone. Looking up, she saw the human woman standing over her, her blade extended over Jester’s head, Jester’s blood glistening on its tip. Jester thought that the sword was about to come down on her head, but instead the woman knelt next to her fallen companion, pressing her hands against the withered skin on his face. Seeing her opportunity, Jester pressed her hands to her chest again, reaching out desperately for the Traveler with her mind. She felt a brief sense of warmth overtake her and looked down to see a spectral image of green hands overlapping her own. Her wound glowed slightly, then closed almost completely, the pain subsiding to a dull ache.

Jester hopped to her feet, and immediately something – someone – slammed into her from behind, driving her face-first into the unpaved alley beneath her. She felt rough, clawed hands covered in fur pin her own to her back. Craning her neck, she saw the tall woman helping the orc to his feet, the black patch on his face somewhat diminished. Then her vision was blocked by Tellion as he stuck his face into the space inches from hers.

“Just who the fuck do you think you are, spying on us?” he snarled.

Jester smiled as innocently as she could manage. “This is a painter’s shop, right?” she asked. “Can I buy some watercolors?”

Tellion straightened up and looked over to the woman and the orc. “Bring her.”

The two exchanged a look, then each took her roughly by one arm and dragged her down into the headquarters of the White Peacock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy did this one run long. I almost split it again, but I think the bit at the end really helps refocus the story after spending 4000ish words on semi-connected vignettes. Let me know what you think! As always, comments are my favorite to read, and the three people who left comments on the last chapter are my favorite people in the world right now.


	6. Daggers in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: There's a brief but vivid description of gore near the end of the chapter

Beau was in a fine mood as she made her way towards the Valley Archive of the Cobalt Soul. It was a beautiful day in Zadash, the sun warming her skin as she strolled past the street vendors hawking their wares. A gentle breeze lifted the air a bit, making the city feel far more open and free than usual. She’d been in Zadash four weeks now, and it was beginning to feel like home.

Beau climbed the steps to the archive and stepped through the double doors. A monk looked up as she entered and smiled at her.

“Ms. Beau, welcome!” she called. “I’ll tell Archivist Zeenoth you’ve arrived!”

“He knows where to find me.” Beau winked at the monk and walked across the atrium towards her usual bench. On her way, she dropped a small bag into a particular vase for Zeenoth to retrieve later. He’d been very consistent with his payments, so Beau saw no reason to wait.

While she waited, Beau perused a book she’d found the day before. It was entitled _Shady Dealings at Shady Creek_ , and documented the founding of Shadycreek Run, focusing on the factors that led to the creation of the loose coalition of crime families that controlled it. It was interesting stuff, to say the least, and Beau found herself wondering how the Gentleman’s Troupe got started.

It didn’t take long for the monks to begin their exercises, though, and Beau quickly set aside her reading to watch. Their movements were mesmerizing, and Beau wondered idly how difficult it would be to learn to move as they did.

Beau felt a slight shift in weight as someone sat down next to her. Rolling her eyes Beau turned towards them. “I swear Zeenoth, you could at least-“

It wasn’t Zeenoth sitting next to her. Sitting next to Beau was someone she’d never seen before. They were elven, with dark skin and a shaved head, their body as toned as the monks, if not more so. They wore robes in the colors of the Cobalt Soul, but the cut and style were slightly different than any that Beau had seen before. They turned towards Beau, their expression severe.

“I’ve heard much about you, Beau,” they said seriously.

“I, uh, don’t think we’ve met before,” said Beau, a little nonplussed. “What exactly have you heard about me?”

“I’ve heard you are very good at finding books for the archive, as well as other things that are not so good for the archive.” Their eyes bored into Beau as they spoke.

Beau swallowed. She didn’t like that look at all, and she was uncomfortably aware of just how much power the monks here could generate with just their bodies. “Maybe you’ve been misinformed,” said Beau slowly.

“That I very much doubt. Information is my business, you see. Tell me, Beau, do you find much interesting information in your work as a fence?”

Beau smirked. “I could tell you what sort of weird things powerful people in this city buy, and how they feel about it. I could tell you that the High Richter doesn’t care for the imperial tax on Marquesian tobacco, or that Oremid Hass covets Xhorhassian cat figurines and doesn’t like to be seen buying them. But Zeenoth has told me that the Cobalt Soul isn’t interested in titillation and rumor. I don’t sell the kind of information you would want to buy.” She watched them closely, saw their eyes narrow slightly. So that was what this was about. “There’s more money in fencing than in espionage, and fencing is safer.”

“Is that all you wish to do with your life?” they asked, sounding slightly irritated. “Are your aspirations truly so low? I’ve been watching you for weeks now, Beau. You have exceptional composure and a true thirst for knowledge. Why waste your talents lining the pockets of whichever gang you work for? Your skills could make the world a better place, gathering and exposing the kind of information that could change lives beyond count.”

“Wait what?” Beau said, caught completely unprepared by the turn in the conversation. “You’re offering me a job?”

The monk looked her up and down slowly and took a long time to answer. “No,” they said finally, “not yet. Maybe a tryout, though. To see if you’d be as good as I think you’d be. And to see if you have the other qualities we need.”

“Would that mean learning some of that?” Beau nodded towards the monks training.

“No. I can’t teach our secrets to someone we don’t know we can trust.”

Beau shifted her posture and shook her head, smiling ruefully. “That’s what I thought. Thanks, but no thanks – I’m not throwing away what I’ve got for a chance at whatever it is you want to try me out for.”

The monk nodded once. “That’s a shame,” they said, then stood up and walked away.

Beau stared after them, not quite sure what had just happened. That was fucking weird.

It was another ten minutes before Zeenoth arrived, and Beau could tell immediately that something was wrong. His face was drawn, almost angry, and his movements seemed much more nervous than usual. Beau stood to greet him.

Zeenoth produced a bag of coins and dropped it perfunctorily into Beau’s hand. “Ms. Beau, I believe that should cover this order. Thank you for your time.” Without breaking stride, he walked right past her, barely making eye contact.

Beau’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, turning him back towards her. “What’s with the cold shoulder, Zeenoth?” she asked. Something was very, very wrong. “I’ve got some new titles that might interest you, and I bet those monks have more shit they want brought in.”

Zeenoth shook his head. “The monks can make alternate arrangements for their contraband, and my source of new books has come under scrutiny. I think this partnership of ours has reached its natural conclusion. It has been a pleasure doing business with you.” He held out a hand to shake hers.

Beau didn’t take it. Her mind was whirring, trying to make sense of information that just didn’t add up. “You asked me specifically to bring in contraband for you because you didn’t want to risk getting caught with it,” she said incredulously, “and you also told me that the Cobalt Soul didn’t care about where it got its donations from. Why would…”

It clicked suddenly, and Beau’s face contorted in outrage. “You’re buying from someone else!” she exclaimed, stepping towards him aggressively.

Zeenoth dropped his arm and backed up, his eyes wide and guilty. “That’s ridiculous!” he lied indignantly. “I would never-“

“Who is it, huh?” Beau growled, advancing on him. She felt a flicker of surprise at how angry she was. “What fucking asshole thinks they can-“

“You have overstayed your welcome!” yelled Zeenoth shrilly. “Get out! Or do I need to have them drag you?”

Beau suddenly became very aware of where she was. Glancing behind her, she saw that the monks had halted their practice and were looking at her very intently. Beau tried to flash a confident smile. It didn’t feel confident on her face, though. She took a deep breath and turned back to Zeenoth.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “It’s your loss, archivist. You will regret this.”

Without another word, Beau shouldered angrily past Zeenoth and stalked towards the entrance to the library. She could feel numerous pairs of eyes fixed on her, but she didn’t look around. She found herself wishing that she carried a writing tool with her – she would’ve liked nothing better than to fill a book with dicks on her way out.

Once clear of the Valley Archive, Beau immediately struck out towards the Evening Nip. It was still afternoon, and the Gentleman would want to know why she was back early, but Beau was too angry to sweet talk any more rich assholes today. She pushed through the front door, ignoring Clive’s greeting, and clomped down the stairs into the tavern below.

It was the first time she’d been down there during the day, Beau realized suddenly. There were very few people around, but the room still seemed cluttered. The tables and chairs had been pushed away to clear a space in the middle of the room, where a few of the troupe had laid out a bunch of merchandise and appeared to be cataloguing it. As she entered, one of them looked up, seeming confused to see her.

The Gentleman sat at his table in the back with Cree, Dweez, and Sorah. They appeared to be pouring over ledgers and reports. At the sound of her descent, the Gentleman looked up, and his brow furrowed.

“Beauregard,” he called, his voice deceptively light, “what brings you home so early?”

“One of my customers got poached, that’s fucking what,” said Beau angrily as she crossed the room. She stopped in front of the table but didn’t sit. “Our friend at the Cobalt Soul apparently got a better offer from someone.”

The Gentleman smiled an angry smile. “Well then,” he said softly, “that can’t be allowed to stand.”

“Who’s our competition?” Beau asked, seething. “Who fucked me over?”

“Hmm.” The Gentleman twirled the edge of his mustache thoughtfully. “Zadash is a true city, but there’s only so much appetite for smuggled goods, and our operation is extensive. I know of a few independent smugglers that I allow to operate freely, since they don’t compete with us very much, and their contacts can occasionally be useful. They couldn’t come anywhere close to matching our supply or our prices, especially not on rare books. That leaves the White Peacock gang.”

“And they are?”

“An annoyance.” The Gentleman’s face turned stormy. “A local group that sprung up a couple years ago as a result of the corruption of the local Righteous Brand chapter. They bought slightly damaged arms and armor from them under the table, then resold them to other criminal groups. The Righteous Brand made a profit and got replacement gear, and their discards were still higher quality than what was easily accessible to street-level thugs. We even bought from them back then.”

The Gentleman paused to take a drink, then continued. “Unfortunately,” he said, “they weren’t content. They used their wealth to get into bulk smuggling, which is very much our game. We’ve lacked the knowledge and opportunity to deal with them quietly, so we’ve had to live with them – the chunk they were taking from our profits wasn’t enough to justify drawing the kind of attention that comes with war. If they’re starting to cut into our luxuries market, though, that changes things.”

The Gentleman smiled again, a serene smile more terrifying than any expression Beau had ever seen him wear. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Take the rest of the day off. I’ll have some reliable friends of ours watch the archive. When Zeenoth meets with the competition, they’ll both be taught a truly unforgettable lesson.”

“No.”

Everyone at the table froze. The air seemed suddenly so thick that Beau thought it might strangle her. The Gentleman tilted his head slightly, his expression placid, and fixed Beau with a gaze that burned like a wildfire. “No?” he asked, very softly.

Beau swallowed, then shook her head. “No,” she said, her voice cracking in spite of her best efforts. “Let me try first.”

“I didn’t hire you to be muscle, Beauregard.”

“You hired me to fucking talk to people, right? Let me try that.” Beau leaned towards him. “If you attack, our partnership with the Cobalt Soul gets, well, let’s say ‘completely fucked.’ But if I can discredit the White Peacock to Zeenoth, we get our very lucrative contact back, and we check their growth without starting a war.”

The silence following Beau’s words stretched far too long. Her heart pounded in her throat as the Gentleman continued to stare at her, his face impassive beyond a slight narrowing of the eyes. Then Dweez began to laugh his low, wheezing laugh, and the Gentleman grinned. It was the first smile Beau had seen on him that didn’t look like a barely sheathed weapon.

“Alright Beau, I’ll let you try it your way,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “It’s a bold thing to try, and maybe impossible, but you’re right that it would be preferable to open war. You’ll need more information on the White Peacocks if this is going to work for you. They’ve done a good job hiding their presence and activities from us, but the Sapphire has been doing reconnaissance on them for the past month. She’s staking out the Leaky Tap today – go see what she can give you on them.”

“Right,” Beau nodded quickly, her neutral expression belying the sense of triumph she felt. So that was what the Sapphire’s job was!

“You have a week,” said the Gentleman. “We can’t afford to leave this insult unanswered for longer than that. I want detailed reports on your progress every day, and I want you to start immediately.”

“On it,” Beau said, doing her best to replicate one of the Gentleman’s sinister smiles. Cree raised an eyebrow at her, and Beau quickly let it slide off her face, feeling embarrassed. She turned and headed for the exit.

“Beauregard!” the Gentleman called after her. Beau turned back, one foot on the bottom stair.

“I know this is personal for you,” he said seriously. Beau immediately felt defensive but resisted the urge to respond.

“It is important that you keep a clear head,” the Gentleman continued. “Do not ruin this by acting impulsively. Do not make me regret trusting you.”

* * *

It was strange, Jester thought, that a hideout below a painter’s shop would have such barren décor. It was a damp place, with bare stone walls and floors covered in rotting carpets. The smell of mildew hung wet and heavy in the air. The magical lights hanging from chains on the ceiling were pretty cool, but on the whole, she wasn’t impressed.

There were only half a dozen people in the room when her captors marched her down the stairs, so that made ten in total. That definitely wasn’t the whole gang, but Jester supposed that a lot of them were probably still out working. The ones that were present looked a lot more boring than the Gentleman’s troupe – most were dirty and nondescript humans and halflings. Other than her captors, only two of them stood out. A woman who might’ve been half-drow leaned against the back wall, next to a heavy iron door that was healthily coated in rust, and a purple tiefling lounged against the banister of a staircase that Jester imagined led up into the painter’s shop above them. He waved at Jester. As her hands were now manacled behind her back, Jester responded with a smile instead, but it faded when she realized that he was actually waving at the tall woman who had stabbed her in the alley. The woman walked over to join him.

One of the humans, a man with long, matted brown hair approached Jester, leering. “That’s a good find, Karnum,” he said. “I’ll get a cage ready for her.”

The orc, who Jester supposed was Karnum, spoke from behind her. “That’s for the boss to decide. We caught her snooping, and she did some nasty magic trying to escape.”

“Pity.” The man with the matted hair clucked his tongue. “I was looking forward to working on her.”

A door at the back of the room opened – not the rusty iron door, a wooden one – and the lights dimmed. Jester cocked her head curiously. Thaumaturgy? Then they flared back up to a blinding white that caused her to wince and look away. Definitely thaumaturgy. When she looked back up, a figure stood in the open doorway.

He was tall, this man, clearly half-elven, and very, very pale. His skin was chalky, his hair the color of fresh snow, and in one hand he held a walking stick, made of white wood and topped with an ivory orb. He wore an immaculate white suit, kind of like the ones that Beau wore, but Jester didn’t think it fit him nearly as well.

He approached Jester slowly, the lights subsiding back to a bearable glow. He stuck the tip of his walking stick under her chin, tilting her face up. “Who are you to spy on the White Peacock?” he asked in a clear, high voice.

“Oh man, you really went all out on the white part,” Jester said, “but you know, peacocks have a lot more colors and patterns than that, even white ones. I have some paint on me if you want me to draw a few feathers for you!”

The man in white withdrew his walking stick and Jester relaxed her neck muscles. Then, in a single fluid motion, he struck her across the face with it. Stars flashed in her vision, and Jester thought she felt something crack. Her face felt warm and sticky, and she was sure there was blood coming from somewhere.

The man’s face was completely impassive as he leaned in close to Jester. “I’m going to ask you one more time, politely, and then I am going to turn you over to Trevor. He’ll have you talking in a few days.” Jester saw the man with the matted hair, Trevor, grinning broadly over the man in white’s shoulder.

“Save me some time and yourself some pain,” the man in white said. “Answer my questions.”

“Sure,” said Jester, smiling. “I really like polite conversation. What’s your name? I’m Fan.”

“Hm.” The man in white made a slightly bemused sound. “You may call me Abel. Now-“

“Hey wait a minute!” Tellion yelled, sounding scandalized. Jester’s stomach fell into her feet. Oh fuck. “That was the name of the buyer I met right before I came back here!”

“That sure is a funny coincidence!” said Jester, her smile frozen on her face. She could hear how unconvincing her voice sounded.

Abel looked over at Tellion. “Tell me about this buyer.”

“Fancy-looking pink tiefling, wanted to buy Swelvain basilisk venom at a ridiculously high price if I brought it to her immediately…” his voice trailed off as his face twisted into a look of embarrassment and anger. “You just wanted me to lead you to our hideout, didn’t you!”

Jester opened her mouth to say something, anything, but Abel pressed his walking stick against her throat, cutting off her breathing. “So the question that needs answering, then, is why you wanted to find us.”

“Boss, she mentioned the Gentleman,” Tellion said.

Abel turned back towards Jester, his impassive expression growing dark. “Is that it, then?” he said, his voice slowly growing in volume. The walking stick pressed harder against Jester’s airway. “Are you one of his Myriad scum, looking to trample local, honest thieves under your boots?”

Jester shook her head frantically. She couldn’t breathe.

Abel held the pressure on her throat a moment longer, then withdrew it, flourishing the walking stick dramatically. He turned to address the rest of the room as Jester gasped, sucking down a desperate lung-full of air. “The Gentleman thinks to send one of his pathetic lackeys here to spy on us, to threaten our livelihoods! We will not be intimidated by his pathetic, milk-blooded rabble! We are of Zadash, and Zadash is our city! Not the Myriad’s, and not his!”

The members of the White Peacock gang roared their approval, loud and angry, and Abel turned back towards Jester, grinning. The expression looked unnatural and disturbing on his face. “Now you’re going to send him a message for us.”

Jester wondered if there was actually a way to magically message someone. If she made it out of this, she’d have to get the Traveler to show her. She glanced around, hoping to catch a comforting glimpse of him, but without luck. She was alone.

Abel produced something green from a pocket on his suit. A peacock feather. With his other hand, he pulled Jester’s coin purse from her belt and tucked the feather into it. “When the Gentleman finds your body, he will know the consequences of sticking his nose in our business.” He placed the purse back on her belt, then stepped back.

Abel called out to the rest of the room, his eyes still fixed on Jester. “It’s time for our guest to be on her way! Trevor, Yasha, take her below!”

Trevor stepped towards her eagerly, but the tall woman, Yasha, hesitated for a moment, then said in a surprisingly soft voice that nevertheless carried through the entire room, “No.”

The pressure in the room shifted from Jester to Yasha so fast she half expected her ears to pop. In the brief moment that she was not under watch, Jester pulled hard against her manacles, trying to break free. She felt them shift and bend, very slightly and very slowly.

She missed whatever Abel said next, but Yasha shook her head again. “No, I won’t do it,” she said.

The tiefling next to her stepped forward, putting himself between Yasha and Abel. “What my friend means,” he said pleasantly, a faint brogue coloring his words, “is that this is not the job we agreed to do for you. I grift for you, and she backs me up if something goes wrong. That is the arrangement.”

Jester couldn’t see Abel’s face, but she could hear the faint shiver of anger in his tone as he said, “Think very carefully about what you say next, Tealeaf. Have you forgotten what the guards would do to the Devil of Trostenwald if it weren’t for my protection?”

“Oh I appreciate what you’ve done for me Abel, don’t get me wrong,” said the tiefling, “but we made a deal. If you want to alter the deal, that is something I’m willing to discuss, but it needs to be a discussion. I took you for a man of your word. Was I wrong?”

The silence in the room was absolute. Jester resisted the urge to break it with a funny noise or comment, focusing instead on continuing to try to pry her manacles apart. Then Yasha moved, storming up the stairs and out of the room. The tiefling followed more slowly, offering a half bow to Abel as he backed up the stairs. “We’ll talk later, yes?” Then he was gone.

Trevor watched them leave with a luck of hatred on his face. “You want me to go take care of them boss?” he asked Abel.

Abel shook his head. “We’ll deal with them when they return. They haven’t proven to be as good of an investment as I’d hoped.” He turned away, refocusing on Jester. “We have unfinished business.”

“Wait,” said Jester, a desperate idea suddenly occurring to her. “Maybe I’d rather work for you than for the Gentleman? You seem to have a pretty good setup here.”

Abel raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Maybe you would rather work for me,” he said, “but I doubt it.” He snapped his fingers. “Take her.”

Jester turned to run for the stairs, manacles be damned, but they were closing in around her, and numerous rough, strong hands grabbed her and dragged her away.

* * *

Beau expected to find the Sapphire fairly quickly – even if she wasn’t actively drawing attention to herself, blue tieflings weren’t a common sight. So Beau was surprised and a little put out when she entered the Leaky Tap, a dingy pub in the Eastern Outersteads, and saw no immediate sign of the Sapphire. She resolved quietly to stop underestimating her as she began slowly making her way around the room, trying to determine if any of the patrons might actually be the Sapphire in disguise. After half an hour, though, Beau was quite confident that the Sapphire was not present in the tavern, and she made her way to the bar.

A white dragonborn looked up from polishing a glass as she approached. “Hey, welcome to the Leaky Tap!” he said, smiling. “What can I get you?”

“Whisky, neat,” Beau said, putting a coin down on the bar.

The man poured her a drink. “What brings you here?” he asked.

“Looking for someone, actually.” Beau tossed back the drink and set a few silver pieces down. “Have you seen a blue tiefling woman today?”

“Sure I have, she made quite a scene.” The dragonborn picked up Beau’s coins. “She’s been sitting in for a few days, never ordering anything but milk. Earlier today, she used magic to make herself look pink and had a chat with one of my regulars. Don’t know what she told him, but he ran off in a hurry, and she followed him pretty quick after that.”

Beau nodded and set down a gold piece. “Who was the regular she was talking to?”

“Halfling fellow named Tellion Gill. Dramatic mustache, kinda shifty.”

“Thank you very much.” Beau pushed another couple of coins to the dragonborn man. Always better to seem generous. Then she turned and walked out the door, her thoughts racing. Did Tellion work for the White Peacock? Was that why the Sapphire had asked her about her competitors? It added up, but it didn’t help Beau much. She had no idea where they’d gone next, or what the Sapphire might’ve said to him.

As Beau glanced around, she noticed a bored looking Crownsguard leaning against a nearby building. He looked grumpy, like he’d been there for a while. Beau smiled and walked up to him. He watched her warily as she approached.

“Hey there,” she said with a friendly wave. “You been out here long?”

The Crownsguard grunted. “Long enough. What’s your business?”

“I’m looking for someone, and I was wondering if you’d seen him. Halfling fellow, dramatic mustache. He left the Leaky Tap in a big hurry not too long ago. He might’ve had a tiefling with him?”

The Crownsguard looked back at Beau disinterestedly. “I see a lot of people on this job. Piss off.”

Beau kept her demeanor friendly. “Oh, that’s too bad,” she said as she removed her coin purse from her belt. “See, he left in such a hurry that he forgot his coin purse, and I wanted to give it back to him. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I gave you some as a thank you for your help.” Beau removed a handful of coins from the pouch, letting them slide through her fingers and back into the pouch.

The Crownsguard licked his lips. “Ten gold,” he said.

“Come on, that’s a lot of someone else’s money for me to give away.”

“And I bet he’d rather have some of it back then none of it. Ten gold, or get lost.”

“Fine.” Beau fished out ten gold and placed them into his hand.

The Crownsguard smiled. “He ran that way, though I didn’t see a tiefling with him. Lucky for you, I’ve seen him around before. There’s a particular street he likes to hang out at, near a casino.” The Crownsguard quickly explained to Beau how to find it, and she set off immediately.

It was strange that the Sapphire hadn’t been spotted in pursuit. The Beau reminded herself again to stop underestimating her. If she could magically turn herself pink, there was no reason she couldn’t magically make herself harder to spot.

It was approaching evening when Beau found the street the guard had directed her to. An odd collection of buildings lined the street, run down houses abutting shoddy-looking shops and a casino with a certain decrepit grandeur. She approached the entrance and gave the building a long, hard look. The perfect place for hiding illegal income and meeting suppliers.

She was preparing to enter when she overheard a voice, a whispered hiss that barely reached her ear. “I don’t like this, Molly,” the voice said.

Beau looked around, furtively searching for the source of the whisper. She casually walked in the direction she thought it was coming from, an alley between the casino and what looked like a painter’s shop. She leaned casually against the alley’s entrance and carefully peered around into it. Two figures stood within, a tall human woman and a shorter tiefling, and they appeared to be having a serious conversation. Beau wished she could make out more identifying details, but the angle of the sun helped hide their features. She strained her ears, trying to catch exactly what they were saying.

“Sending young women to a bloody death is not what I want to be doing,” the woman said, “especially not when she might not have even done anything to deserve it.”

“It’s not exactly my idea of a good time either,” said the tiefling, “but you did see what she did to Karnum.”

“If they were only worried about that, they’d just take her head off. This is pure cruelty, and I am done with cruelty.”

“I’m no fan either. I think it’s past time we move on.” The tiefling sounded regretful. “I really wanted this to work out. It’s safer and much more fun to have a group, but these people aren’t like the circus. We’ll have to keep looking.”

“Okay.” The human hesitated, then said, “Can we help her?”

“Sadly, I don’t think so. The beast in the sewers hasn’t missed a kill yet. I’d rather do right by a fellow tiefling, but I’m not keen to throw our lives away for a stranger.”

Beau stiffened. Were they talking about the Sapphire?

“Maybe she’ll get lucky. Maybe she’ll get away from it,” the tiefling continued, but his voice made it clear that he didn’t think it likely.

“If she did, the Peacocks would shoot her down as she ran. They have her blocked in.”

“Well, I suppose that’s one more death on our consciences, then. Doubt it’ll be the last.”

They were both quiet for a moment, then the tiefling spoke again. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” the human answered, sounding pained. The two turned and started walking down the alley, away from Beau.

Beau stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, heart pounding. The Sapphire was in the sewers, facing some terrible beast and the White Peacock gang. How had her investigation gone so wrong? It didn’t sound like she’d last long enough for Beau to get reinforcements.

So. It’d have to be Beau.

Beau began searching the street for a manhole, doing her best to go methodically rather than frantically. It only took a minute for her to locate one. She gave a cursory glance around for Crownsguard. She spotted one at the end of the street, but he didn’t appear to be looking in her direction. She’d have to be quick.

Beau slid her dagger from her jacket sleeve and wedged it under the manhole cover. She bore down on it with all her weight, willing it to raise the lid and not to bend under the strain. Slowly, it lifted an inch. Beau stuck her hands under the cover and lifted as hard as she could. With a strained grunt, she shoved it to the side, and she dropped into the sewers.

It was dank, dark, damp, and smelly. Beau wasn’t sure what she’d expected – it was a sewer. She reached up and pulled the cover back over the manhole. She turned towards the sewer passage and started to leave, but she was pulled up short by a sudden tug on her sleeve. Looking up she saw that the edge had been caught between the cover and the stone. Cursing, she sliced through the wrist cuff with her dagger, freeing herself.

The sewer tunnel ran in two directions, and Beau paused for a moment to consider. If the White Peacock was quartered in the casino, they probably had the Sapphire down in the sewers closer to it. She picked the direction that seemed like it would run closer to that direction and set off.

She was sacrificing speed for stealth, splashing through the shit slurry as she ran, and she was so focused on her running that she almost didn’t notice the flicker of torchlight ahead. She slowed just in time, and slowly peered around the corner. Four figures stood at a junction, their backs to her. They all faced towards one of the corridors, weapons drawn. Two of them held crossbows, carefully sighted and aimed. The other two carried heavy-looking swords.

The Sapphire had to be down that corridor, along with whatever beast was supposed to be killing her. There was no way around the goons, but at least their backs were turned to her. Dagger drawn, barely breathing, Beau slowly crept towards the nearest crossbow holder, a woman who might have been half-drow. Her heart pounding in her chest, Beau silently willed herself not to slip into the liquid flowing along the bottom of the tunnel, and she offered a silent prayer to whoever might be listening to keep them from turning around.

Her prayer must’ve been heard. Beau drew so close to the woman that it was a wonder she couldn’t feel Beau’s breath on her back. Maybe she did, right at the end. She stiffened, sensing something wrong, but by then Beau’s dagger was at her throat. Thed had told her once, during all their practices, that cutting a throat took a lot more force than you might expect, so Beau pulled the blade towards her as hard as she could as she drew it across the woman’s exposed neck.

The knife parted her flesh with disgusting ease, and Beau couldn’t suppress a shudder as blood sprayed forth from the gaping wound. The woman spasmed, the crossbow falling from her hands and landing with a splash. She let out an awful, bloody gurgling noise as she collapsed.

The rest of the goons were caught completely unawares, and it took them a few fractions of a second to locate the source of the attack. That was all Beau needed as she dove immediately towards the remaining crossbow wielder. He turned towards her, eyes wide as she bore down on him, his crossbow coming up to aim at her chest. Too late. Beau’s dagger pierced his eye and drove deep into the socket, all the way to his brain.

She pressed her foot against his corpse and pulled her dagger free, sending him crashing into the water. As he fell, the swordsmen charged, a human with matted hair and a crazed look in his eyes bearing down on her. A dagger wouldn’t shield her from that.

Beau turned and ran. She sensed a faint shiver in the air behind her and instinctively ducked. The sword sliced empty air, a fraction of an inch above her scalp. Then she was clear, dashing full tilt down the tunnel they’d been guarding.

Beau chanced a glance over her shoulder. The thugs weren’t pursuing her. They backed up to their previous position. One of them knelt to check the bodies of their comrades. They didn’t think they needed to follow, Beau realized. They were confident she would die. It was a chilling thought.

As Beau rounded the corner at the end of the passage, it occurred to her that she’d just killed two people. She’d never taken a life before. The realization seemed far away from her, as if it were someone else realizing they’d just made a first kill. Still, it distracted her enough that she didn’t notice the web until she crashed bodily into it.

Her momentum was enough to carry her most of the way through the sticky mess. Still, thick silken threads filled her mouth and gummed her eyes, leaving her sputtering and blind. She almost fell, but somehow kept her feet. She tried to wipe her face clean, but her sleeves were thoroughly wrapped. Coughing and gagging, Beau eventually ripped her arms free and pawed at her eyes, clearing the webbing from herself after a few moments.

She was standing in a large open space; a confluence of half a dozen sewer tunnels. The whole chamber was coated in thick sheets of web. Dotted around the room were a number of silken cocoons, roughly the size of people. Beau felt vaguely ill. How long had they been feeding this thing? Was the Sapphire in one of those?

Beau approached the nearest cocoon, a sick feeling in her gut. She placed her dagger against it, preparing to cut it open, when a flash of movement caught her eye. She looked up just in time to see a blue tiefling woman come sprinting out of the tunnel furthest from Beau. A wave of relief washed over her.

Beau opened her mouth to yell a greeting, but a strange whooshing sound filled the room. Then, suddenly, a massive white spider appeared in the room. No movement, no emerging from hiding. One moment the room was empty, and the next it was dominated by a monster straight from the depths of nightmares. With a snap, its pincers pierced cleanly through the Sapphire’s torso.

A vicious scream tore from Beau’s throat, and then she was charging full speed at the spider, dagger held in front of her like spear. As she charged, Beau noticed something strange. The Sapphire hadn’t reacted at all to the vicious bite, not even moving with the impact. Then, a split second later, flinched away dramatically, pressing a hand to her forehead as if she were fainting. As she did so, Beau saw that there was no blood, no wound at all. The spider’s jaws were passing completely through her!

Then Beau was upon the spider, and she brought her dagger down in a vicious diagonal slash across its nearest leg. She felt chiton give and crack, and the monster let out a horrible piercing shriek. It spun towards her instinctively, and one of its legs slammed Beau in the chest with the force of a tree trunk, lifting her off her feet as it spun and flinging her across the room. She slammed into the wall next to the tunnel from which the fake Sapphire had emerged, white stars obliterating her vision for a moment as her head cracked against the wall. With a pop, the spider vanished.

Beau glanced down the tunnel and jumped as she came nearly nose to nose with an incredulous looking Sapphire. “Beau, what the fuck are you doing here?” she cried out.

“Looking for you!” Beau said. “Your dad told me you’d be at the Leaky Tap. What did he know? Wait, it is you, right?” Beau reached out and touched her arm. She was solid.

The Sapphire looked haggard. She was scraped up, her dress and cloak ragged and torn. A nasty gash on her cheek had swollen into an enormous purple bruise. Manacles hung from her wrists, and the chain connecting the cuffs looked like it had been pried apart. “You shouldn’t have come here Beau! We’re overmatched, and you’re not a fighter!”

“We don’t need to fight it; we just need to get back to the entrance and run!”

The Sapphire shook her head emphatically. “There are too many guards! They’ll shoot us as soon as we round the corner! We have to find another way out somewhere down here.”

“I took two of them out on my way in, actually. It’s only the swordsmen left, and I like our odds against them a lot more than I like our odds against this!”

The Sapphire’s eyes widened. She started to say something, then she screamed, grabbing Beau’s wrist and yanking her into the tunnel towards her. Beau heard a faint whoosh, then felt the wind on her back as pincers snapped shut right where she’d been standing. The spider had reappeared.

“Run!” the Sapphire yelled as she took off down the tunnel, pulling Beau with her. Behind them, Beau heard the sound of rapid scuttling as the spider rushed after them, its horrible shrieking scream all but drowning out everything else.

At the end of the passage, the sewer forked. The Sapphire yanked Beau down the left-hand passage. “We need to split up,” she gasped as they kept running. “It can’t follow us both. Meet me back in the central chamber; then we’ll rush the guards.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with that thing,” said Beau heatedly as they approached a section of the tunnel with a side passage that split off back towards the main room. The Sapphire smiled a pained smile, then gave Beau a shove, forcing her into the side passage. Beau staggered slightly, and then the Sapphire was gone, tearing down the main passage away from her.

Beau ran down her tunnel towards the main room, then skidded to a stop and turned back towards the fork. The spider would certainly follow the Sapphire, since she hadn’t turned into a side passage. A deep recklessness filled Beau as she stared down the ten feet of tunnel she’d just crossed, listening to the spider draw closer. Then it came into view at the fork, still running after the Sapphire, barely even seeming to notice the side passage Beau now occupied. That would change.

“Hey fuckhead!” Beau yelled, and she hurled her knife as hard as she could. It spun end over end through the air and slammed point first into the spider, embedding just under one of its larger eyes. The scream that it released was louder than any it had made before, and Beau had to cover her ears. It turned its gaze towards Beau, eyes glistening with hate, and it charged.

Beau glanced down at her empty hands, belatedly remembering the most important rule of knife fighting. “Never throw your weapon away,” Thed had said emphatically. “If you get lucky, you’ll look like a badass, but then you’ll probably also die. And if you’re not lucky, you just look like an idiot before you get cut to shreds.” Beau turned and ran for the central chamber. She could feel her strength flagging. She knew with a sinking certainty that she wouldn’t be able to outrun it much longer.

She burst into the central chamber running full-tilt, and immediately threw herself to the side of the entrance she had just emerged from. As she dove, the spider burst from the passage behind her. It was larger than Beau, though, and it couldn’t change its direction as quickly. It screamed in fury as it slid past her, unable to reach her with its jaws. Still, one of its flailing limbs struck Beau mid-dive, flinging her across the room again. She braced for a crushing impact, but her landing was cushioned this time as she collided squarely with one of the cocoons. It split open beneath her, spraying her with a gluey goo and loose web fibers.

Spitting and sputtering, Beau grabbed at the ruined cocoon, pulling herself to her feet. Her hands wrapped around a pair of shoulders as she rose, and she blinked furiously as quickly as could, trying to clear her vision. The image in front of her resolved, and Beau found herself face to face with a corpse. She froze.

It was Thed.

His form was completely encased from the waist down in thick webbing, but his torso had come loose from its bindings and tilted forward. His spiky black hair was pressed flat by a thick coating of sticky fibers. His skin was cold, waxy, and pale, and his whole form looked drawn and dry, as if every drop of moisture had been drained from him.

Beau’s ears rang. Her chest was tight, her throat completely clenched shut. Tears welled from her eyes as she stared at her dead friend, unable to process what was so horrifyingly evident before her. She tried to say something, his name maybe, but only a strangled croak emerged. For a moment, time seemed frozen, trapping Beau in a single, horrible moment that stretched on forever.

Then time snapped back into motion, and Beau heard the spider’s scream of rage, the skittering sound as its legs found traction and it began to charge. Mechanically, thoughtlessly, Beau’s hand went to Thed’s wrist. She fumbled with the cuff of his sleeve, and her hand grasped the hilt of his dagger. She pulled it free, feeling the beautiful balance of the blade he’d carried with him for years. The blade that had kept him alive all this time.

With a deliberate, fluid motion, Beau looked over her shoulder at the spider bearing down on her. The rest of her body followed, uncoiling like a spring as she let fly Thed’s dagger, driving straight and true as an arrow towards the center of the spider’s head.

Or, at least, it would have if Beau’s sleeve hadn’t still been caught in the cocoon.

The resistance of the thick glue yanked against Beau’s arm, throwing her off balance and sending her into a half stagger. Thed’s dagger spun wildly, tumbling through the air far wide of the spider and clattering into a wall.

Beau stared numbly down at her wrist, the cuff of her suit coat still covered in remnants of web and glue. “Sleeves are bullshit,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

Then it was on her. The force of the spider’s charge lifted Beau off her feet and slammed her into the wall. Its pincers bit deeply into her gut, and then she was screaming, a scream that tore her throat to shreds with the force of it. Her blood was on fire, and every nerve in her body cried out for release. A horrible, pounding agony exploded in waves from her stomach, and she could see viscera hanging out of the gaping wound. Beau’s vision blurred as the pain obliterated her senses and tears streamed freely down her face. It was unbearable. Anything would be better than this senseless, unending suffering.

Light flashed in the room. Beau was dimly aware of falling to the floor and crumpling as the spider reared back, wreathed in a nimbus of gleaming energy. The glow seemed to flash and fluctuate, and she heard someone yelling incoherently as the spider screamed louder and louder. Beau’s pain was beginning to fade into an ache, and she shivered. She was so cold. She was so tired. Sleep would be blessed escape. She curled up next to Thed. He felt warmer now. Maybe he’d be waiting to show her the ropes again.

Someone was shouting something in the distance, like they were at the end of a long tunnel. It almost sounded like they were shouting her name. Beau felt hands grab at her, shaking her, trying to keep her awake. She tried to tell them to stop, to let her rest, but she was so tired and so sore and her body was so heavy. She couldn’t make them understand that it was okay, really.

Then a blast of searing, burning pain wracked her body. Beau’s back arched and she screamed in horrible agony. Her vision clarified, and she saw a tall figure in a green cloak leaning over her, a mischievous smile just barely visible beneath his heavy hood as he pressed a searing finger to Beau’s forehead. Then he was gone, and the burning agony faded to a deep, full-body warmth more soothing and comforting than anything she had ever known. Beau blinked, staring blearily around the chamber as her eyes began to close. The spider lay motionless a few feet away, its corpse charred, smoking, and shriveled. The face of the Sapphire filled the rest of her vision, her eyes glistening with tears as she held Beau in her arms, keeping her out of the raw sewage that ran below her. The Sapphire’s blue face was filthy and battered, with an enormous wound in her forehead seeping green pus and dark red blood. One of her horns was missing its tip, and even darker blood oozed from it. Her face was twisted in pain and grief and fear as she stared down at Beau.

It was the most beautiful sight Beau had ever seen. She smiled, content, as the darkness rose up and claimed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I thought last chapter was long.  
> Don't forget to leave a comment to let me know what you thought! I really appreciate them :)


	7. Peacock Hunt

“Any change?”

“A little snot bubble came out of her nose and popped. But no, not really. No matter how much magic I use, she won’t wake up.”

“Do you still think she will live?”

“The Traveler won’t let her die on me. He knows she saved me.”

“But he can’t wake her up?”

“No.”

“I see. We can’t afford to wait any longer.”

“But she’s the only one who knows the way!”

“You found your way back to the surface, and you know what part of the city to check in. You’ll find the path; I have no doubt.”

“Dad-“

“It’s been three days, my dear. The longer we delay, the more likely it is that the White Peacock gang will have moved headquarters, and all this will have been for nothing.”

“But what if she wakes up and I’m not here? Or what if, what if she doesn’t?”

“I’ll have someone with her at all times. We won’t let her die.”

“Will _you_ stay with her, Dad?”

“… I will.”

“Thank you, Dad. I love you.”

“I love you too, my little Sapphire.”

“Can I have a minute with her? Before I go?”

“Just don’t take too long of a minute. I’ll have Sorah gather the others.”

“Okay.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Traveler? Keep her alive while I’m gone, okay?”

* * *

Jester crept through the sewers beneath Zadash, the damp chill kept at bay by the hatred burning in her chest. Her sickle was drawn, her other hand resting on her holy symbol. To her right walked Sorah, hands empty but clenched into fists. To her left stalked Cree, armored in leather, her shortsword held before her like a torch. Behind them came a pair of dwarves, Barad and Clothor, the Gentleman’s favorite pair of legbreakers, each grasping heavy hammers. The Gentleman had selected this team to sneak into the stronghold of the White Peacocks and kill Abel and any others of the gang unlucky enough to be there.

It hadn’t been easy to convince her dad to let her lead the reprisal. Jester had arrived at the Evening Nip bleeding profusely from multiple wounds that she hadn’t been able to close, as her magic had been completely spent. She’d spent what little she had left after killing that awful spider to keep Beau from bleeding out in the sewers. They’d taken Beau from her arms, and her dad had tried to rush her off to her own room for a bath and rest, but Jester had refused. She’d been so sure that Beau would die if she didn’t stay near – Beau was so cold and pale, her wounds barely even closed. It had taken a lot of care to keep the massive bite in her stomach from ripping back open as they situated her into her bed, and Jester had insisted on helping Seamus wrap the wound. He’d bandaged Jester’s wounds as well, once he was done with Beau, paying special attention to where the spider’s mandibles had severed the tip of her left horn. Eventually, he’d told her to get some sleep, and to use her magic on herself when she woke up.

Jester had slept in a chair next to Beau’s bed that night, sleeping fitfully. When she woke, she had discovered Beau thrashing and convulsing, a searing, feverish heat pouring off her body. Her wound was horribly infected, which Jester cursed herself viciously for not anticipating – she’d been laying in sewage, what had she expected? She’d used most of her magic then and there, burning the infection from Beau’s body and breaking her fever, and the rest she’d channeled to try to sustain Beau’s much weakened body. She’d begged the Traveler for more, tears of frustration streaming down her face.

He had shaken his head, his smile more sad than mischievous, Jester thought. “You’re not ready yet,” he’d said. “Keep doing my works, and you'll keep getting stronger.” He’d given her a comforting touch on the shoulder before fading away.

The violence she was about to inflict on the White Peacock wasn’t usually the Traveler’s kind of fun, but Jester thought she could make it humiliating enough for them that he might find something worth laughing at.

This sort of wrath wasn’t a feeling that Jester was terribly familiar with. She’d been so sure Beau was different when they first met in Kamordah, that she was someone who wanted more than to spend a bunch of gold and stick it to authority. Those things were well and good, but none of the people in the Gentleman’s Troupe seemed to want anything beyond them. Jester wanted to see the world, to travel far and wide and bring mirth to the masses and humility to the mighty, to play pranks on people who deserved it and laugh with the Traveler as they raved incoherently. She wanted to meet a handsome, gallant man and fall in love, like in the stories her dad used to tell her when she was very little and in the books she bought from Chastity’s Nook.

Jester had thought that Beau wanted some of those things too, that she was more than just a particularly quick-witted and observant common thug, but it had seemed obvious to Jester after that first night that she’d been kidding herself. But then Beau had shown up in the sewers, the closest Jester had come to death in a long time and thrown herself into the fray immediately. It hadn’t mattered to Beau that she was only armed with a knife that she wasn’t very good at using, or even that it was to save Jester, someone that Beau didn’t even like very much! And that wasn’t even considering how hard it must’ve been for Beau to find her.

Obviously, there was something special about Beau; Jester’s first instinct had been right. And now she was lying comatose, probably dying, and it was all her fault. If she hadn’t gotten caught in the first place, or if she’d been able to talk her way out of it, like her dad would’ve done with a smile and a threat or Beau would’ve done with a smirk and a bargain, then Beau wouldn’t have come after her. Or if Jester had unleashed all of her destructive magic on the spider immediately, maybe she could’ve killed it before Beau even got there. She’d just been sure that if she’d tried, her reserves would’ve been completely used up and the four thugs from the White Peacock would’ve finished her off.

With the two crossbow users dead, though, they had fallen before Jester with ease. When she had stepped around the corner into that tunnel, Beau’s limp and bloody body clutched in her arms, the two swordsmen had rushed towards them, Trevor in the lead. She’d enjoyed the look of terror and agony on his face as the toll of the Traveler’s bell shattered his skull. The other one had turned to flee, but she’d dispatched him in the same way before he got halfway to the exit. She should’ve been that aggressive from the start.

Someone else would’ve let their thoughts distract them and miss the sound of a person hiding around the next bend, but Jester wasn’t just anyone, and she noticed a lot more than people gave her credit for. She held up a hand, signaling her team to stop. Then, she crept quietly towards the next bend, around which she could just hear someone breathing softly. She gestured the others to approach quietly. She counted down on her hand. _3\. 2. 1._

Jester burst around the corner, her free hand reaching out and grasping the front of a jacket, slamming its wearer into the wall. She recognized the purple tiefling she’d seen at the White Peacock’s hideout, his eyes widening in surprise and alarm. Yasha stood a few feet away, apparently caught completely flat-footed. She reached for her blade, but Sorah slammed into her with the force of a runaway stallion, and she went down in a mass of flailing limbs.

Jester brought her sickle down towards the tiefling’s neck as hard as she could, but as she did, he hissed something under his breath. Jester felt a strange pressure behind her eyes, then a searing pain as the pressure exploded into blood, her vision disappearing in a flood of red. She felt her sickle strike stone, and a slight wind on her clothes as the tiefling ducked beneath her arm and whirled away. She wiped the blood angrily from her eyes and turned to pursue.

“Stop!” Cree’s voice echoed threw the sewer, a loud, tortured sound so forceful and wrought with emotion that Jester obeyed. Cree was staring at the tiefling, her eyes wide, her arms hanging slack at her side.

“Lucien?” she asked in a strangled whisper. She reached out towards him slowly, like a sleepwalker. “Lucien, is it really you?”

The tiefling smiled, though Jester noticed that he did not relax his grip on the scimitars he had just finished freeing from their sheathes. “More or less,” he said warmly. “It’s been far too long.”

“You were dead,” Cree whispered, tears in her eyes. “We saw you die. I buried you myself, sat at your grave and mourned you myself. How is it that you are here?”

He shrugged. “I got better.”

Cree took another step forward, and with a sudden pounce, wrapped him in a hug so tight Jester thought his bones might split. The tiefling seemed momentarily taken aback, then returned the hug.

“Okay, are you going to introduce us Cree?” Jester asked, slightly perturbed by the sight of Cree expressing so much affection.

The tiefling freed himself from Cree’s embrace and bowed to Jester. “To Cree, I am Lucien, but these days I am called Mollymauk Tealeaf. You’ve already met my friend Yasha, who I’m sure would appreciate it if you called off your large friend.”

“Sorah, let her up for now.” As Sorah obeyed, Jester looked at Cree. “You’re friends with a White Peacock?”

“We worked together as part of the Tomb Takers, back before I worked for the Gentleman. I didn’t know he was alive, let alone that he was with the White Peacock now.” Cree still sounded shell-shocked.

“I wouldn’t say we’re with the White Peacock,” said Mollymauk, “though I am sorry for the trouble our former associates put you in. I’m glad to see you made it out alive. Yasha and I needed to stay out of sight of the authorities for a while, and the White Peacock simply presented the first good chance to do that.”

Yasha had gotten back to her feet by this point and was angrily trying to get sewage off the side of her face. Jester noticed that, in addition to a few bruises from Sorah’s fists, she had a number of fresh scabs that looked to be stab wounds.

“What are you two doing in this part of the sewers, then?” Jester asked suspiciously. From what she’d seen of him before, Mollymauk was a fast talker. This could easily be a ruse.

It was Yasha who answered, however, her soft voice once again catching Jester off guard. “The others didn’t like it when I didn’t help them kill you. They attacked us as soon as you were down in the sewers. We had to run.”

“We’ve been down here ever since,” said Molly. “We stick out way too much above ground when that many people are hunting us.”

“Well, that probably won’t be a problem for very much longer,” said Jester. She decided she believed them – they hadn’t saved her life, but they hadn’t wanted to end it either. That was worth something.

“You’re going after them?” Molly did a once over of the group. “Do you know the way?”

“We’re figuring it out,” said Jester confidently. She was sure they were close.

“You’re a fair bit off course. Fortunately, we know where to go, and we wouldn’t mind a bit of revenge.” Molly smiled again, twirling his scimitars. “Plus, we’re in the market for a new sponsor. Your Gentleman, he doesn’t sell people, does he?”

“No!” Jester said emphatically.

“Then he’s an improvement over our previous ones. We’ll help you put them in the ground.” Molly sheathed his scimitars and turned dramatically down a tunnel. “This way!”

The group looked to Jester. Jester smiled. “Okay, let’s go!” She started walking after him. The rest of her team fell in behind after a few seconds.

Yasha strode up, walking next to her. “I’m sorry for stabbing you, before,” she said awkwardly.

Jester smiled. “That’s alright!” she said. “You did a very good job as a guard.”

“Thank you, I guess,” said Yasha quietly. She paused for a moment, awkwardly. “What is your name?” she asked.

“Oh, I am the Sapphire,” said Jester.

“That is a pretty name.”

“Thanks Yasha! Your name is pretty too.”

It didn’t take too long before the layout of the sewers began to feel familiar to Jester, but she wasn’t sure if they were actually getting closer or if she was just getting turned around. Molly seemed sure of his path, though, so Jester was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for a little while longer.

When they rounded a corner and stepped out into a familiar confluence of tunnels, Jester stopped dead in her tracks. It felt like years since she’d struggled for her life down here – had it really only been three days? It didn’t quite feel real. It all looked the same, but somehow not.

The corpse of the spider still lay where it had fallen when Jester had used searing magic to light up its eyes, burning it from within even as the light helped guide her sickle cleanly into its brain. The wall was stained a dark red-brown where it had ripped into Beau. Jester could still imagine her lying there, unmoving, barely breathing as her lifeblood pooled around her. A little ways away, the husk of Thed rested face down, slowly crumbling away. He had been dislodged from his cocoon when the spider had crashed into the wall.

Mollymauk turned towards her, an expression of surprise on his face. “You killed that?” he asked incredulously.

“I don’t know why everyone was so surprised about it!” said Jester indignantly, breaking out of her reverie. “It really wasn’t that hard even!”

Yasha approached the body slowly, her blade drawn. She gave it a poke. Then another. “This is a phase spider,” she said softly, not looking up. “We didn’t see them often, but when we did… My tribe feared them.” She turned towards Jester. “You must be very powerful.”

“Oh you know,” Jester shrugged, a warm feeling of pride welling up. “I’m pretty cool, I guess.”

Cree walked over to Thed’s body. “What should we do with him?” she asked.

Jester felt a pang of sadness. Thed had always been really nice to her. She would almost have called him a friend. “We should grab him on our way back. It wouldn’t be fair to leave him here to get swallowed up by poop or found by the Crownsguard.”

“Right then. Let’s keep going,” said Molly, clapping his hands together. He started to walk towards the entrance to the passage leading towards the White Peacock hideout, but Jester put out a hand to stop him.

“I know the way now, thanks Molly,” she said, and strode confidently forward. The rest followed.

The White Peacocks accessed the sewer through a false panel a little bit up the wall at the end of the tunnel. It looked like solid, slick stone, but it was really just cleverly painted wood. Jester carved an X into it with her sickle, then stepped aside, gesturing Barad and Clothor forward. They took turns smashing it with their hammers, splinters flying through the air with each swing until it was nearly reduced to rubble – just a thin fringe hanging off an exposed frame. Jester reached through the hole, grabbed the edge of the frame, and swung it open with a smile. She climbed up through, arriving at a small landing at the base of a short staircase that led up to the painter’s shop basement where her prey resided.

Jester waited impatiently for the others to clamber up after her. The landing was not built for seven people – they were forced to move a little way up the stairs to make room. When the last of them, Yasha, had climbed in, Jester quietly got everyone’s attention. She tilted her head questioningly. Slowly and carefully, everyone got their weapons out and ready, then nodded. Jester turned around, walked up the stairs, and pushed the door open.

The room was just as dank and unpleasant as the last time Jester was there, but it seemed twice as full. Rough-looking people stood around the room, drinking and chatting. A light, portable looking table had been set up across the room from Jester, between the rusty iron door and the wooden door. Abel sat behind it, going over what looked like ledgers that had been spread out across it, his pure white suit completely impeccable.

All of this Jester noticed in the blink of an eye as she strode confidently into the room, the fury and hatred that had fallen dormant after meeting Yasha and Molly flaring back up to full force. Only one person immediately noticed her presence: An aging human woman leaning against the wall near the door that Jester emerged from looked up, her eyes widening in shock as she opened her mouth to sound the alarm. Without breaking stride, Jester reached out and grabbed her face, releasing a surge of necrotic magic through her fingertips as she did. The woman’s head turned to mush in her grasp, and her body slid to the floor with a wet thump. As the White Peacocks slowly turned to face the intruders, Jester’s team burst through the door and exploded into the room in a flurry of violence. All hell broke loose.

Sorah threw herself at the orc Karnum, her left arm knocking aside his hammer as he raised it to attack, her right elbow smashing violently into his chin. He fell to the ground in a heap, and Sorah descended, her limbs a blur of motion, blood and bits of flesh spraying out beneath her like the mist from a very meaty fountain.

Cree slid out from behind Jester like a shadow, her free hand extended straight in front of her. A halfling with a club ran at her full speed, howling like a madman, but Cree’s hand flexed and he came to a sudden stop, his battle cry twisting into a horrid gurgling as his skin writhed as if a million worms were crawling just beneath the surface. A human noticed and tried to intercede, but Cree moved too quickly, her sword lashing out and slicing clean through the halfling’s throat. His blood sprayed out and swirled in the air around Cree’s hand. With a flick of her wrist, she channeled the blood into a smooth arc, slamming into the charging human’s face. It continued to flow from the dying halfling into every available orifice, and the human collapsed and convulsed as she began to drown.

Barad and Clothor closed in on the tabaxi Kryath, the one who had tackled Jester to the ground in the alley above. She smiled as Clothor’s hammer shattered his knees and drove him to the ground, where Barad quickly turned his head into pulp.

Mollymauk darted through the room like a purple shrike, a vicious smile fixed on his face. Each of his scimitars nicked his own side, drawing blood that they seemed to soak up like a sponge. Then they burst into blinding, silvery-white light. His blades danced through the air like those of a dervish, and everyone foolish enough to come within reach soon fell away in agony as the blades seemed to melt through their flesh like tallow.

Yasha tore through foes like a force of nature, each blow of her greatsword leaving another body to fall to the floor with a wet thunk – if they weren’t dead, they would be soon. She barely seemed to notice the blows that fell upon her body, instead taking the opening created by her foes trying to hastily withdraw for another attack to impale them in the chest or cleave their head from their body.

As the carnage raged around her, Jester kept her gaze focused squarely on Abel. She felt a cold, vicious smile break her face as she strolled calmly towards him. Abel, for his part, looked shocked and terrified, his impassive composure completely shattered. He lurched to his feet, stumbling over his chair as he backed up to the wall. He raised his walking stick and jabbed it sharply through the air. As he did, three globules of gleaming, roiling arcane energy coalesced at its tip and launched forth. They slammed into Barad, knocking him off his feet. Abel looked around desperately, like a caged animal searching for an escape route. Then his eyes found Jester.

Jester waved at him. “Remember me?” she called out over the screams of pain and fear. “You should have let me join your gang!” Jester murmured a few words, invoking the power of the Traveler, and launched a bolt of searing light at Abel. She intended for it to strike and cling, burning him and lighting him up to make it easier to keep hitting him. He reacted too quickly, though, drawing a shimmering shield of magic over himself. The bolt exploded off of it into a shower of sparkles that quickly faded away.

Abel leapt forward onto his table as the barrier dissipated, sliding a little bit on his papers. He waved his hands forward in a flat arc, and a sheet of fire exploded outwards, enveloping much of the room. Jester ducked beneath most of it, but she felt a burning pain explode across her back as a patch of her cloak briefly took flame. She heard fresh screams of anguish and terror fill the room; whether they came from her people or his, she couldn’t be sure.

As the flames dissolved back into empty air, Jester straightened back up, her hands weaving an elaborate gesture that tolled the Traveler’s bell. The clanging gong filled the room and Abel staggered, one hand clasping his left ear. Jester could see blood spurt from his right ear, and his other hand came away bloody. Abel snarled, a vicious, guttural sound, and he dove off his table towards Jester, walking stick outstretched.

Mid-air, just before he would have impacted, Abel spat a quick word and a shadowy sword blade grew from the end of his walking stick. With a wild swipe, the blade sunk deep into Jester’s shoulder, and she screamed. The pain was harsher than any conventional blade, and it seemed to claw at her mind as well as her body. As she reeled back, an instinctive cry of Infernal burst from her lips. She felt her blood freeze. Then the blood from her wound exploded into a shower of tiny, razor-sharp ice shards that flew straight at Abel. He screamed as the cloud shredded his suit, spraying bits of bloody fabric onto the wall behind him. His walking stick fell from his grasp as he tried, too late, to cover his eyes. The shadowy blade vanished before it hit the ground.

Jester surged forward with a wild yell, her good arm still clutching her sickle, and as Abel doubled over in pain, she buried its blade all the way to the handle in his stomach. He convulsed, his face slamming her hip as he vomited blood all over her. Jester grabbed his hair and pulled hard, forcing his ruined face up to stare at her.

“I gave the Gentleman your message,” she said, leaning down towards him. Her face twisted into something too awful to call a smile. “He wanted me to give you his response.” Jester yanked the sickle free from his gut, raised it back over her head, and drove it clean through Abel’s eye. He jerked violently, and Jester yanked the sickle upward with an almighty heave, ripping it out through the top of his skull. His corpse collapsed to the floor with a wet squelch.

The room had gone mostly quiet, Jester noticed as she stood up, channeling a burst of healing magic into her shoulder. A few scattered moans and weak, wet coughs filled the air, rising from the blood-soaked floor. None of the White Peacocks were still standing, Jester realized, a sense of fierce satisfaction filling her, and it looked like only one of her own had fallen. Clothor lay limp, cradled in Barad’s arms, but Jester released more healing magic into him and felt his breathing stabilize. Cree made a slow circuit of the room, calmly cutting the throats of the few Peacocks that still clung to life.

Yasha approached Jester, spattered head to toe in blood, looking slightly contrite. “I, um, think it might be a bit of fixer-upper, if you are wanting to move in,” she said sheepishly. Behind her, Sorah started scraping what was left of a dwarf off the ceiling.

Molly approached, his blades still glowing. “If you two wouldn’t mind, we’ve got some slaves to free.” He gestured towards the rusty iron door.

Jester nodded vigorously. “Let’s let them out! I bet they haven’t seen the sky or had a good meal or gone to a real bathroom in forever.” She turned to the rest of her team. “Gather up any papers you can find, and also anything else valuable, to take back to the Evening Nip. The Gentleman will want to look over what they have before we decide whether to expand out here. Good job guys!”

A ragged cheer went up in response. Jester smiled and followed Molly into the slave vault, pausing only to draw a giant dick on the wall in blood.

* * *

When Jester returned hours later to the Evening Nip, the first thing she wanted to do was take a nice long bath to get all of the blood off. The first thing she knew she should do was head to her dad’s office and report on the mission. But instead of either of those things, Jester found herself standing outside the door to Beau’s room. It would be quick enough to go in and give Beau what magic she still had on board, she reasoned. She’d only be making her dad wait, like, a minute tops.

When Jester opened the door and saw her dad still sitting in the uncomfortable chair next to Beau’s bed, she almost dropped the stack of papers she was carrying. The Gentleman looked up as she opened the door, and he immediately hopped to his feet, his expression somewhere between elated and disgusted.

“Dad!” Jester said, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say. She moved to hug him, forgetting for a moment her current state, but catching herself just in time. She beamed at him. “You stayed!”

“Of course, I did, my dear,” her dad said. A look of hungry excitement overtook his face. “Now, what is it you have brought me?”

“The White Peacock gang is all gone,” said Jester proudly. She held out the papers towards him. As he took them and began to thumb through the slightly bloodstained sheets, she continued, “Those are their manifests, their contact lists, and their leader’s personal diaries. Those ones are the most fun to read.”

The Gentleman stopped skimming for a moment to look closer at one particular page. He raised an eyebrow. “They were selling slaves for the Jagentoths?”

“We found eight people in cages down there. I let them take whatever they wanted from the hideout and turned them loose.”

“That was… very kind of you. Though it would’ve been satisfying to steal the Jagentoths’ prized merchandise right out from under them, claim their profits.”

“People,” Jester said firmly, “not merchandise.”

The Gentleman gave her a measured look. “Of course,” he said after a moment.

“We’re not going to be slavers, dad. That was the whole point of this!”

“We will have to see. It will depend how much profit we can leverage out of the remains of their operation.” The Gentleman set aside the papers, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll send Cree and Dweez tomorrow to see about turning their base into a secondary base. Hopefully they can get it running well enough.”

Jester crossed her arms. “I can take care of it. I want to make this work.”

“You don’t have that much experience with actually running an organization, my dear.” The Gentleman ruffled her hair affectionately. “I’m glad to see that you’re so excited to learn my business, though.”

“I know plenty!” Jester said indignantly, patting her hair back into place. “I’ve sat in on plenty of your meetings with Dweez and Cree – I was paying attention to what you all said!”

She could tell by the look on his face that he was unconvinced. Jester changed tack, putting on her best winning smile. “If you want me to take over the family business someday, then what better chance will there be for me to learn?”

The Gentleman regarded her with a fond, appraising smile. “I’ll sleep on it,” he said finally, standing up, “though not for a bit, I hope. I expect Sorah will still have some energy to work off. I’m looking forward to lending her a hand.”

As he walked past Jester to the door, she suddenly remembered Molly and Yasha. “Wait, one more thing!” she said quickly. “We picked up two new people who want to join our Troupe! Their names are Mollymauk Tealeaf and Yasha, and they used to be White Peacocks, but they were really nice to me when I was captured there, and they really helped out with finding the place again and killing everyone there! Also Cree and Molly are friends from forever ago or something.”

“Hmm.” The Gentleman assumed a contemplative face. “I’ll have to play a game with these two. See if they have what it takes to prosper here.” He opened the door to leave.

Something Beau had said weeks ago surfaced in Jester’s mind. “Dad,” she said hesitantly, “when you play cards with new recruits, that’s just a show you put on to test how they deal with pressure and uncertainty, right? You only kill the ones that crack? You… you don’t actually leave it up to chance?”

The Gentleman was quiet for a long moment, silhouetted by the light from the tavern behind him. “Of course it’s just a show, my Sapphire,” he finally said, his voice light and unreadable. Then the door closed, and he was gone.

Jester let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“You really shouldn’t have family arguments when I’m trying to sleep,” a voice croaked from behind her, a whisper so hoarse and ragged that it barely sounded like words.

Jester whirled about, heart leaping, barely daring to hope. “Beau?” she asked.

Beauregard lifted her head ever so slightly from her pillow, bright eyes open and alert. She winced in pain and collapsed back into bed with a groan. “Hey Sapphire,” she said. “I could really use a drink.”

Jester rushed over to the pitcher of water sitting on the bedside table, quickly pouring a cup and raising it to Beau’s lips. “Drink this slowly so you don’t throw up,” she said.

Beau grimaced. “That wasn’t quite what I… Never mind, actually, this is fine. Thank you.” She awkwardly sipped from the cup for a little bit. After about a minute, Jester set the cup back down.

“How long was I asleep?” Beau asked.

“Three days,” said Jester. “I… we weren’t sure you would wake up. You were hurt really badly.”

“No shit. I’ve never felt this awful in my life.” Beau tried to sit up again, but immediately collapsed back into her bed, swearing profusely. Jester reached out and released a burst of healing magic into her. Beau immediately relaxed, her muscles loosening as a contented sigh escaped her lips.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Beau said sleepily. Her eyelids looked heavy.

“Sure you did. I did some thaumaturgy your first day here. I thought you were supposed to be observant or something,” Jester teased.

“Thaumaturgy is a tiefling thing. Healing, and whatever you did to that spider, that’s a whole other thing.”

“Yeah, the Traveler teaches me magic and stuff, and it’s pretty awesome. Have you heard of the Traveler, Beau?”

Beau tried to shake her head, immediately grimacing. “No, I-“

“Oh my gosh, he is so cool, Beau, and he’s so powerful, and-“

“I think I need to wait to unpack that until later, Sapphire,” Beau said, cutting her off. Her eyes were only barely open now. “But there are a few things I really need to know. Things that can't wait.”

“Okay. But tomorrow I’m going to tell you all about him!”

“Sounds good." Beau paused for a moment, swallowing hard. "If it’s been three days, that blood on you isn’t from the spider. What happened?” she asked.

Jester smiled. “I took care of the White Peacock gang, Beau. They’re not going to hurt us or steal from us ever again.”

Beau didn’t answer that. She seemed to be having a hard time processing it. Finally, she spoke again, her voice thick. “Thed?” The question hung in the air for a moment. “Is he-“

“I’m sorry, Beau,” Jester said, placing her hand on Beau’s.

Beau grimaced. Her bottom lip trembled a little bit.

Jester felt a flash of shame as she remembered how brashly she’d brushed off Beau’s concern about him after he’d gone missing. “I’m really sorry, Beau. I should’ve done more. Maybe I could’ve saved him.”

“I’m sorry too.” Beau’s voice was unsteady, so thick and hoarse it only barely sounded like words.

“What for?”

“For what I said about you my first night here. I heard a lot of what you said to the Gentleman when he was in here, you know, while I was waking up. I, um. I didn’t have the, the best dad, and your dad reminded me of him. I mean, I still think your dad is a real bastard, but you’re doing a better job working with him, and uh, and having a, a relationship with him than… than I ever did. And he obviously loves you.”

Beau blinked hard, tears now running freely down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Sapphire.”

“Jester.”

“Huh?”

Jester looked down at Beau, a tight, warm feeling in her chest, constricting her breath. She felt a pressure behind her eyes as well. “My name is Jester. Jester Dosal.”

Beau smiled, bright and genuine, and so full of pain. “Jester,” she said softly. Her eyes closed. Her breathing grew regular again.

Jester stood up, wiping her eyes. As she turned to go, she felt the hint of a warm, comforting presence. “Traveler,” she said softly, “I think I found a friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left a comment last chapter! They were some of my favorites!  
> I always feel like I have way more commentary that I want to put here than I reasonably can, so: If any of you have any questions about the fic, my vision of the characters, or my writing process, feel free to send me an ask over at my tumblr. I'm "thevalleyarchive" there as well.


	8. Convalescence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Some unhealthy reliance on alcohol, which will not be isolated to this chapter. I've updated the tags appropriately.

Beau did not rest easy. Everything hurt so much; it was hard to sleep through it, and even when she did manage, her nightmares tortured her far more than the damage to her body. Thed stared at her reproachfully, his face pale and disintegrating.

“You saved her,” he said, his voice sad. “Why didn’t you save me? Why didn’t you look for me?” As he spoke, thousands of tiny spiders poured from his mouth, completely blanketing his body. Another person emerged from the crawling mass, this one the half-elf whose throat Beau had cut. The slit on her throat flapped like a toothless smile as she spoke. Whatever accusation she threw at Beau was inaudible, though, as her words turned to blood the moment they passed her lips.

Behind her, Thoreau Lionett shook his head in disappointment, his face grim and angry. “This is all you amounted to?” he asked. “A killer and a crook? You are spoiled fruit, Beauregard. The moment I stopped trying to keep your worst impulses in check, you turned into a murderer. I’m only grateful your mother doesn’t have to see who you really are – it would break her heart.”

But that wasn’t true; Clara was there too, a look of horror writ across her face. “Beauregard!” she cried, “What have you done to that dress?”

Beau looked down and realized that she was clad in the unraveling tatters of a soiled green ball gown. Even as she grabbed desperately at the fabric, trying to hold it together, she could feel it tearing beneath her fingers, large chunks of lace and chiffon sloughing off her like rotting flesh.

“Do you have any idea how expensive that was?” Clara yelled. “Don’t you have any respect for all the work I put in to making you look beautiful? Don’t you care? Why, oh why, did you go rampaging through the sewers without a care?”

“Jester was in danger, Mom!” Beau pleaded, tears streaming down her face. “I didn’t want her to die – it had nothing to do with you, please!”

“You never care about everything your father and I have gone through to give you this life! You’re always more worried about yourself than you are about your responsibility to this family!” Clara spun away from her. “You will be the death of me Beauregard!”

Beau reached out towards her, but her hand slammed into something hard and wooden, and she couldn’t see and she could barely move. It was so stuffy. Somewhere beyond, she could hear a stranger talking. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. and Mrs. Lionett. Should I make ready the family plot?”

“It would be a waste of good dirt,” sniffed Thoreau. “Bury her anywhere – I wash my hands of her.”

Beau began banging desperately on what she now realized was the lid of her coffin. “Dad please! Please, I’m not dead, please let me out, please don’t bury me!” she screamed. She could see her parents standing next to the open grave, her coffin resting right at its lip, a man completely covered in black preparing to push it in.

Thoreau rolled his eyes. “Even dead she will give me no peace. Get this over with.” He turned away and began to walk back towards town, Clara on his arm.

The man in black began shoving her coffin out over the hole. “Please, please!” Beau screamed as loud as she could, her throat shredding beneath the force of it. “I’ll be good I swear! I’ll be everything you want me to be, please let me out, let me come home with you, please!” The coffin reached a tipping point and Beau was falling, and falling, down an endless hole, and there was dirt pouring in through the cracks in the coffin, filling her mouth and stifling her cries of anguish, and still she fell.

She could still hear Thoreau far above as he walked back towards his beautiful house. “Well, I’d say we’re all much better off now that she’s gone,” he said lightly. “Maybe this time you can make me a son, eh Clara? I’m sure a son could never be such a complete letdown.”

* * *

Beau sat up straight in her bed, gasping desperately for air. As she breathed in, pain exploded all through her body as every nerve protested her sudden movement. She collapsed to her side, curling into a ball as she gulped down air desperately, willing the pain to stop. She heard the sound of a flint strike, then a dull glow filled the room. It couldn’t have been brighter than a candle, but Beau was dazzled nonetheless.

A tiefling was standing over her, silhouetted by the candlelight. Beau shielded her eyes, blinking furiously. “Jester?” she asked.

The voice that answered was not Jester. “Is that her name?” asked the tiefling with just a hint of a brogue.

Beau ground her teeth – his voice had a light, studied carelessness to it that reminded her far too much of the Gentleman. “Who the fuck are you?” she demanded, her voice raw and painful. Her hard blinking began to pay off as the details of the room slowly resolved.

The tiefling standing over her was purple, his eyes a nearly flat red. Intricate tattoos were visible on his exposed skin, and an elaborately decorated coat hung from his shoulders. He smiled. “Mollymauk Tealeaf, at your service.”

“You were outside the casino,” Beau said, her mind starting to kick back into gear. “I guess you got away from the White Peacock okay.”

“You were eavesdropping? Is that how you found out where your friend was?” Molly asked, sounding genuinely delighted. “We’ve all been wondering how you knew where to look.”

“We?” asked Beau.

“We. My friend and I have found new employment.” He winked at her. “You’re the coworker I’ve been most looking forward to meeting.”

“Why?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You came to the aid of – Jester, was it?”

“No,” said Beau firmly. She did not like Molly. “She’s called the Sapphire.”

Molly winked. “The Sapphire, then. You came to her aid, helping her escape certain death, before anyone else even knew she was missing. You threw yourself into danger with a dagger and almost no training, and you somehow avoided death. That sounds like an interesting person to me.”

Beau didn’t really know what to say to that. She just grunted and tried to roll out of bed. It was agonizing – her entire body felt like one big, deep-tissue bruise, and her muscles felt like they’d been put through a shredder. She managed to take two steps before she collapsed to the floor, breathing hard, trying not to scream.

Molly looked down at her. “Want a hand?” he asked. His expression might’ve been simple curiosity, or it could’ve been pity. Either way, Beau shook her head vigorously and pulled herself back to her feet, unable to keep a moan of agony from emerging from behind her clenched teeth. She fixed Molly with defiant, blazing glare.

Molly shrugged. “See you in the bar, then. You might want to freshen up first – you’re a bit of a mess.” With a lazy wave, he left the room.

Beau slowly lurched to the dirty, cracked mirror, cursing the whole way. What she saw there shocked her.

The woman staring back at her from behind the glass was a wild-eyed, ragged thing. Her hair fell tangled and limp to her shoulders. Her undercut needed redone. Beau reached up and touched her hollow cheeks. She had always had a narrow frame, but the pampered lifestyle her father had brought her up in had given her a fair bit of softness and extra flesh. That had all been burned away. Now she looked painfully thin, almost emaciated beneath her thin nightgown. It occurred to Beau dully that someone must’ve changed her clothes while she slept. Probably Jester. Beau flushed, then wondered if she was still feverish.

She lifted the nightgown and looked down at her body. It was astonishing how much the three – or was it four, now? – days that she’d slept had ravaged her body. She could count most of her ribs. Her curves had been ground into sharp angles. Beau felt a wry sort of amusement as she realized that her abs were visible. Of course she’d have definition when she could barely fucking walk. She stepped away from the mirror and hobbled towards her dresser.

After much soul-searching, Beau begrudgingly admitted to herself that she wouldn’t be able to get one of her button-up shirts on until she was a little less sore and a little more limber. She refused to go out in just a borrowed nightgown, though, so she grimaced and swore and groaned her way through the agonizing process of putting on pants. She pulled her hair back messily – raising her hands above her head brought a special kind of suffering. Then, setting her face as sternly as possible, Beau exited her bedroom.

It must be midday, Beau realized as she looked around the mostly empty tavern. Of course, there were no windows for her to gauge time by the sun, but she had only ever seen the tavern set up like this when she had rushed in on that late afternoon, fuming about losing a customer. This time, however, the Gentleman was sat at the bar instead of his usual table, going over papers with Dweez and Cree. Sorah was nowhere in sight. Molly, however, was seated in a corner, idly messing with a tarot deck. Beau’s dislike for him grew. A tall woman – presumably the one that Molly had been talking to in the alley – sat next to him. She looked uncomfortable.

Beau walked down the stairs to join them. Or, at least, she meant to. As soon as she bent her knee to descend the first step, her leg muscles screamed in protest and immediately gave up. Beau collapsed, her head cracking against the unforgiving edge of a stair as she tumbled down the staircase in an uncontrolled tangle of limbs. Right before she faceplanted into the floor, someone intercepted her, wrapping her tightly in their arms and arresting her momentum, helping her find her feet. Their flesh felt damp against hers.

With a start of alarm, Beau pulled herself away from the Gentleman’s embrace, almost falling again. He stood there, arms slowly falling back to his sides, looking at her with an expression of… was that concern?

“Thanks,” Beau said in as flat of a voice as she could muster, straightening her clothes as casually as she could manage.

“What are you doing out and about, Beauregard?” the Gentleman asked. His tone was different than usual, ever so slightly. His usual unctuous manner was absent, Beau realized. It was unsettling.

She jerked a cocksure grin onto her face. “I’ve got customers to get to, boss,” Beau said. “I’ve been keeping them waiting three whole days, and you know how rich assholes are about waiting.”

The Gentleman smiled, but there was less of an edge to it than usual. It seemed forced. “Your vigor is inspiring,” he said, walking towards her, “but you’re a bit underdressed, don’t you think?”

Dweez began chuckling his strange, rhythmic chuckle, and Cree snorted as well. Beau felt her cheeks flush she opened her mouth to spit back a witty retort, but the Gentleman started to speak, so softly she could barely hear him. She was sure no one else could make out what he was saying, and with his back to them, they might not even be able to tell he was speaking.

“You saved my daughter’s life when no one else could have,” he said. “I won’t see you back to work until you’re healed. Please rest.” Then, louder, in his normal carefree tones, the Gentleman said, “I won’t have you dragging our reputation through the mud, Beauregard. You can go out once you put a shirt on.”

He clapped her shoulder, sending a fresh wave of pain through her body. Beau grimaced, gritting her teeth to keep from crying out as the Gentleman sauntered back over to his bar stool. She wanted so badly to throw his pity in his face, to march back to her room and put on a damn suit and get the hell out of this bar. But the thought of climbing those stares, agonizing and in full view for anyone to laugh at, defeated her. Beau limped over to a table, not the one Molly sat at with those fucking cards, and lowered herself into a seat, glowering at the room the whole time. She called out for a drink, and Seamus brought her a whole bottle of whiskey and a shot glass.

She was surprised when the tall woman approached her. In spite of her size and considerable bulk, she seemed almost nervous as she said, in a soft, halting voice, “If you are wanting to get back into a, a better condition faster, I could help you do some exercises.”

Beau looked her up and down, drinking in her toned physique, her eyes lingering on her chiseled biceps. “You can exercise me however you like,” she said with a smirk. The woman looked flustered. Beau winked at her. “What’s your name?”

“Yasha. Um…” Yasha looked away quickly, flushing slightly. She gazed awkwardly around the room, trying not to meet Beau’s eyes. Beau heard Molly chuckle softly, saw Cree roll her eyes. So she leaned forward and took Yasha’s hand in hers. Yasha jumped, her eyes locking with Beau’s once more.

“Why don’t we go up to my room and you can put me through my paces,” said Beau, her tone low and husky. Her smirk grew wicked. “You can carry me there.”

* * *

Sweat poured off of Beauregard as she panted heavily, her arm pistoning as hard and fast as she could manage as she pushed towards completion.

“Don’t stop,” Yasha cried out, her voice slightly strained. “Keep going, keep going! Almost there, almost there, almost… there!”

As Beau reached her limit, she let out a strained, rasping groan and collapsed, rolling over onto the sweat-soaked bed and gasping for air.

She let the weighted bar Yasha had lent her fall from her grasp and onto the bedspread. Yasha smiled at her. “Very good for a first time, Beau. I can almost never convince Molly to join me, but even when he does, he doesn’t finish the whole set.”

“I can see why,” Beau said. They’d been at it for hours as Yasha put Beau through a series of repeated lifts, stretches, and other exercises that seemed to test every muscle in her body, including plenty that she hadn’t known she had. Yasha had had to help support her through the squats, though, and after that she’d sat down on the bed for the last few sets. She watched Yasha pick up the weighted bar with an ease that almost made Beau angry. “You just carry that heavy fucker with you wherever you go?” she asked, not bothering to keep the incredulity out of her voice.

“This is, um, my lightest one, actually,” Yasha said. She had the good grace to sound a little embarrassed about it.

Beau shook her head. “Fucking hell, Yasha.”

“They were part of my act!” Yasha said defensively.

“Your act?”

“Yeah. I, uh, I used to be part of a, a circus. Usually I was security, but sometimes they had me come lift a bunch of heavy objects for the crowd.”

“Is that where you met Molly?” Beau asked. “He seems like a circus person.”

Yasha nodded.

“How did you go from a circus to here?” Beau paused, realizing that that was maybe rude. “If you don’t mind, I mean.”

Yasha shuffled her feet. Beau thought she wasn’t going to answer, but then she spoke, very quietly. “We were in Trostenwald,” she said. “One of our performers turned out to be a fiend. He killed an old man who came to our show, but we didn’t know what had happened. Me and Molly teamed up with a few people we met in town to try to solve the murder, but it… it didn’t go well. The fiend got away, and the lawmaster pinned it all on Molly. Because he was a tiefling, and that was close enough to a fiend, I suppose. We had to run.”

“Shit,” said Beau. She wracked her brain for an appropriate condolence, but her manners tutor hadn’t exactly covered racial profiling.

Yasha shrugged. “Yeah. Shit.” She hesitated. “What were you doing, before you were here?” she asked tentatively.

Beau shrugged, grimacing. “Oh, you know,” she said, the memory of her dream sitting heavy in her mind, “living with my parents. Guess I was rebellious.”

Yasha looked at her sadly but didn’t press her. “Okay,” she said softly, and Beau was grateful. Yasha glanced at the door. “I’m going to go eat. Do you want to come with me? Or do you want me to bring something up?”

“The second one sounds nice,” said Beau. The workout regime had drained her of defiant pride. “Would you pass me the bottle before you go, though?” she asked, gesturing to the whiskey she’d snagged from Seamus earlier. “I could use something for the pain.”

Yasha handed her the bottle and reached back for the glass, but Beau pulled the stopper out with her teeth and drank a few gulps straight from it. It burned horribly the whole way down, but the warmth spread, soothing some of her aches into something more manageable.

“Thanks, Yasha,” Beau said. And she meant it. “If, you know, you can, I’d be down to work out with you again tomorrow.”

Yasha smiled softly. “I would like that.”

* * *

Beau was just finishing off her bowl of beef and barley stew when her door swung open. She barely had time to look up before someone slammed into her, pinning her to her bed in a tight hug.

“You’re awake!” cried Jester happily. “And you’re eating! We won’t have to grind your food up really small and mix it with milk and feed you through your butt!”

Beau tapped Jester vigorously on the arm. “Jester, crushing me,” she wheezed through clenched teeth as pain wracked her body, spreading out from her warm embrace.

Jester jumped back, looking horrified. “I’m so sorry!” Then she noticed the – thankfully empty – bowl that had gone flying across the room when she tackled Beau. “Sorry!”

Beau grinned. “It’s alright,” she said, trying very hard not to show how much pain she was in. “What’s been going on? What are you doing now that the White Peacock gang is a pile of body parts in an alley somewhere?”

“Well, today was pretty cool, but we can talk about that later! My dad-“

“Jester, I have been going insane cooped up in here; you’ve gotta tell me something!”

“You’ve only been awake for a day!” said Jester.

“Yeah! It’s been awful!” Beau said emphatically.

“Well, Dad’s put me in charge of our new secondary headquarters, which is where the White Peacock’s headquarters used to be, so me and Sorah went there today to finish cleaning it out and also to intercept anyone who showed up there so that we could recruit them or kill them, and it was super easy to just wait for a knock on the door, and-“ Jester suddenly cut off her exited account, taking a breath quickly before saying, “but that doesn’t really matter right now because my dad wants to see you!”

Beau’s emotions must’ve shown on her face, because Jester’s expression immediately shifted from excited to defensive. “It’s nothing bad!” she insisted. “It’s something fun!”

“Jester, your dad has a very… unusual idea of fun,” said Beau, trying her best to be diplomatic. “This isn’t the kind of fun where he might kill me at the end, is it?”

“No killing,” Jester insisted. “Just fun.”

“Alright.” Beau started pulling herself to her feet, wincing. Some of the alcohol in her system must’ve been soaked up by her meal. She grabbed the bottle and took a couple of quick swallows, feeling the blessed numbness flow through her body again. Her head spun a little bit, but she could deal with that. “Let’s go.”

Jester took her by the arm, helping her walk out onto the landing. Beau should’ve felt irritated by that, but somehow, she didn’t mind. She glanced over towards the Gentleman’s table, but he wasn’t there. Instead, Jester led her to the door leading to the Gentleman’s office. It was a nicer door than any of the bedroom doors, and Beau imagined it must be a nicer room too. She’d never seen the inside. Jester pushed through it without hesitation.

The office was a little larger than Beau’s room, and much cleaner. The floors were polished and uncluttered. The Gentleman sat behind a large desk, writing something in a small book. A large, plush feather bed was tucked into a nook in the corner. Sorah was sprawled out in it, half naked, along with a rugged-looking human man that Beau had seen hanging around the Shuttered Candle a few times.

The Gentleman looked up at them as they entered and smiled. “My dearest Sapphire. Please, come sit down. You too, Beau.”

Beau approached the desk hesitantly. Sorah rose to her feet quickly, pulling her shirt back on. She offered a hand to the human, pulling him up. “Time for you to go,” she said. It was the first time Beau had ever heard Sorah speak. Her voice was surprisingly high, but still rumbly. The human hurried out of the room, and Sorah followed him. She smiled slightly over shoulder at the Gentleman as she left.

“Don’t wait up!” he called after her as the door closed.

The Gentleman turned his attention towards Beau and Jester, his smile shifting into something that almost seemed genuine. It looked wrong on his face, and Beau felt even more unsettled. What the fuck was this about?

The Gentleman set two bottles and three glasses on the table. He poured himself and Beau some wine, and Jester some milk. “Do you want to start, my dear?” he asked.

“Sure Dad,” Jester said with a smile.

“Okay, what the fuck is going on?” Beau asked, unable to restrain herself any longer. “Why did you want to see me?”

“My daughter didn’t tell you?” the Gentleman frowned in confusion. “We’re going to play some cards.”

Beau turned towards Jester. “What the fuck, Jester?” she said, her voice half-rising to a yell.

“I-“ Jester started to say something, but the Gentleman spoke first.

“Interesting.” His voice was once again every bit as sharp as Beau was used to, and his smile seemed to sharpen as well. He kept his eyes focused on Beau as he said, “It seems my daughter needs to be reminded about the importance of an alias.”

“Dad, she saved my life!” Jester said heatedly. “If I can’t trust her, who can I trust?”

“Me,” he said flatly. “That should be enough.”

“I bet you’ve told Sorah your name!” Jester protested heatedly.

“I haven’t, actually,” said the Gentleman. “You make far too much of fairytales and romance novels. But,” he said delicately, “that is a conversation for another, more private time.”

He looked to Beau, who was considering making a run for the door. The Gentleman’s face relaxed back into something genuine, and when he next spoke, his voice had lost its usual light inflection. “There is nothing at stake in this card game, Beauregard. No gambling, no danger. It is just something my daughter and I like to play for fun when we are both available. She requested that we invite you tonight.”

“Oh,” said Beau, feeling embarrassed. She took a big gulp of her wine. It was an excellent vintage.

Jester produced a deck of cards from a pocket and began shuffling. Beau glanced at them. “Okay,” she said slowly, beginning to wonder if this was some kind of elaborate joke, “I heard what you just said, but those are Marquesian cards. In what world is Gambit of Ord not a gambling game?”

“There is more than one card game from Marquet, Beau,” said Jester loftily. She began to deal. “Haven’t you ever played Uno?”

* * *

It was very late when the Gentleman finally called it a night and Beau and Jester emerged from his office, arm in arm and laughing. Beau was very drunk, and Jester had insisted on helping her back to her room so she didn’t fall over the rail and break her neck. Beau hadn’t objected.

“See? I told you it would be fun!” Jester said, poking Beau in the ribs. It hurt, of course, but the aches of Beau’s battered body seemed very distant right now, like they were happening to somebody else.

“Okay, okay, you were right!” Beau said, laughing. Almost giggling. She still felt giddy from winning the last game. The Gentleman had thrown his hands up in disgust when Beau had laid her Draw 4 card on the pile. It was a friendly disgust, though, and Beau knew she should feel very afraid of how easily the man slid between these two personas – one deadly and full of barely-concealed malice, and the other very much like a cool uncle. But Beau didn’t feel afraid tonight. She felt happy, happier than she had in a long time, and the only sensation she was really aware of was Jester’s arm wrapped around her.

They entered Beau’s room. “You should play cards with us more,” Jester said. “Like, it’s always fun, but it’s never, like, as fun as it was tonight.”

Beau laughed and spun away from Jester’s grasp, staggering as she kept careful hold of just Jester’s hand. In her fanciest accent, she said, “I shall eagerly await your next invitation, my lady.” Beau bowed, and she began to sway. She was barely able to stagger back to her feet, and she must’ve looked absolutely ridiculous, because Jester giggled. It hung in the air for a little bit as they both stood there, smiling at each other.

Jester cleared her throat and looked down at the ground. “Beau,” she said softly, timidly. “I have something I wanted to give you.”

Beau cocked an eyebrow, a dozen scenarios, each less likely than the one before, flashing through her mind. “What do you want to give me?”

Jester fumbled with something on her belt. “Here you go,” she said, holding out a dagger.

Beau took it from her and looked over it, feeling vaguely confused. It wasn’t the one she’d lost to the spider. It was much nicer, dark rippling rings flowing up the steel. Its edge was sharp, its balance impeccable, the leather of the grip soft and well-worn. Beau felt her stomach turn and fall out of her as she recognized it.

“I think he would’ve wanted you to have it,” Jester said quietly.

Beau felt her throat tighten, her chest constrict. She didn’t deserve this. It was her fault he was dead. She should’ve looked for him when he went missing, not stumbled across him by accident after he’d already died.

Beau tried to say something, to tell Jester this, to give her the dagger back, but her voice wasn’t working. She just stared at Jester, watching what was left of their merriment drain from her face as she saw how Beau reacted. That made her feel even worse. She forced her mouth to move. “Thank you, Jester,” she squeezed out, hoarsely.

Jester nodded, looking uncertain. She backed up to the door. “Goodnight, Beau.”

“Goodnight.”

The door closed. Beau stood there, staring down at Thed’s dagger, memories of him - living and dead - flashing through her mind, too fast and fractured for her to catch onto. She couldn’t take it.

With a strangled cry, Beau spun, hurling the dagger at the wall. It spun wildly end over end and crashed into the wood pommel-first, rebounding with a dull thunk and skidding to the floor. Beau slowly collapsed to the ground, arms wrapped tight around herself. Strangled sobs escaped her throat, and she wept for Thed, for her own failure, the tears and grief and shame escaping her like a river collapsing a dam. She lay there for a long time, huddled in her anguish as she finally let all of the darkness whirling in her head overtake her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The outpouring of feedback and engagement since the last chapter has been absolutely mind-blowing, and I cannot thank you all enough for all of the positive, specific, and lovely comments you've left. I want to give a special shoutout to Stuffoutsidethetardis, taintedidealist, and Vaderisbae, who've left comments on nearly every chapter this past week, and also to Rogue_Bard and Jetblack76 who have been consistent commenters for a long time now. You guys are the best :) Thanks so much for your continued support of this fic.


	9. The Slow Collapse

“I present to you Vivienne de Robespierre,” Molly announced dramatically from the stairwell.

Jester looked up from her book. She sat behind the walnut desk that had once been Abel’s, in the basement room beneath the painter’s shop that had once been Abel’s, and she gazed at the stairs, just below where Molly stood, to see another merchant that had once been Abel’s. This merchant, Vivienne, had a regal air about her, her fine clothing unstained by travel. An expression of aristocratic contempt graced her face as she looked around the room.

Jester didn’t see what the merchant found so gauche; she thought her new decorations had really livened the place up. Tapestries now draped the bare stone walls, a menagerie of images that clashed brilliantly in composition and subject matter. A gorgeous rendering of the Platinum Dragon that Molly had contributed hung next to a lovingly stitched, highly illegal caricature of King Bertrand Dwendal, each individual nose hair carefully placed and highlighted. Carpets out of Port Damali covered the floor. The feel of damp and the scent of rot had been expunged, and Jester had had a new, tighter door fastened over the entrance to the sewers to prevent it from returning. The only thing left unchanged was the wall on which Jester had drawn a dick with Abel’s blood. Underneath it, she had painted the symbol of the Traveler in the most lurid shade of green she could find. Half a dozen of her own people, much cleaner and nicer looking than the White Peacocks, lined the walls, watching.

Jester had been dealing with people like Vivienne all week. She had a pretty good idea of how to get results now, so Jester met her contempt with a bubbly smile. “Oh my gosh!” she said, “It’s so nice to meet you!”

“The… pleasure, is mine,” said Vivienne haughtily, “though I fail to see why I was brought down to this basement.”

“Oh, you know!” said Jester, grinning at her. “This place might be under new management or whatever, but we still want to do business with you. I’m way more fun than Abel, I swear.”

“Hmph,” Vivienne sniffed. “As I told your young…” she paused for a minute as she glanced at Molly, trying to determine his gender. She gave up and changed track. “Your _valet_ was uninterested in purchasing the pigments I trade in. That was the extent of my arrangement with the previous proprietor, and if you have no interest in them, I have better places to be.” She turned to leave.

Jester felt very tired, suddenly. She knew what had to happen now; her dad had walked her through the finer points of intimidation and coercion often enough. Maybe the first few times there had been some fun in seeing stuck-up assholes come completely unwound, but now it just felt... cruel. Rote. There was no art to it, no humbling of the over mighty, just the erosion of a person's confidence and sense of safety until they would do what you want. She didn't think the Traveler would be very happy with her.

Still, this was how the business was done. She couldn't afford to let this fail. She would not be a slaver again.

Jester clicked her tongue and invoked her duplicate, who appeared right in Vivienne’s path. She jumped back with a startled screech. She glanced back and forth between them rapidly, her eyes widening with fear. The duplicate began circling her nonchalantly, her mouth moving in time with Jester’s words.

“You know, when we smeared Abel’s brain across the wall, he hadn’t bothered to tidy up his papers,” Jester said sweetly, “so we had to go through them to get his affairs in order. See, one of his papers was a ledger. A ledger with your name in it.” Her duplicate leaned forward and booped Vivienne on the nose. She recoiled.

“Anyway,” Jester continued, “he did write down that you sold pigments and powders. But he also wrote that you carried a different kind of dust, hidden among the rest of your wares. But you say you’re just an honest merchant, right?” She clapped her hands and hopped to her feet. “So this is all a big misunderstanding! Molly, go search her cart! She should really be more careful – I don’t think the Crownsguard would be very understanding of an honest merchant who accidentally got a bunch of suude mixed up with her goods.”

“Wait!” Vivienne cried out at Molly, throwing her hands out desperately. She turned back towards Jester. “I apologize,” she said, her eyes darting between Jester and her duplicate, unsure who to address. Jester had her duplicate beckon Vivienne closer. She approached, eyes pleading. “We have gotten off on the wrong foot. What may I call you, my friend?”

“I’m so glad you want to be friends! I’m the Sapphire.”

“Sapphire, I would be more than happy to continue the arrangement I had with your predecessor. Starting today, if you like! I have plenty to offload.”

“That sounds great!” said Jester. “Except I think you should give me a discount because you were rude to me. One-third off.”

Vivienne scoffed. “You’re out of your mind!” she said scornfully. “And you had almost convinced me to take you seriously.”

“You know, none of Abel’s other old contacts have had a hard time taking me seriously yet.” Jester yawned, and her duplicate skipped a couple of steps away. “But I guess if you want to be my example…”

Jester’s people unslung crossbows, unsheathed swords, and hoisted hammers. Vivienne spun around, her eyes wide, fixing on Mollymauk as crystals of frost burst from his scimitars. She turned back to Jester’s duplicate. “One-quarter off,” she said, her voice shaking, “and only on this shipment.”

“One-quarter seems fair, but I want it for the next year.”

“The next month.”

“How about the next three months?” Jester’s duplicate offered her hand.

Vivienne reached out to take it, her hand closing on empty air as it passed through the illusion. Jester dispelled it and clapped twice. “Perfect!”

Vivienne looked around, startled and put off by seeing Jester vanish. Jester smiled at her from behind her desk. “Go get the goods,” she instructed the two men standing nearest the door. She addressed Vivienne again. “There is just one more little thing we need to do. We need a vial of your blood.”

Vivienne looked like she’d just been punched in the face. “What?” she asked numbly.

“Just for insurance purposes. To make sure you don’t betray or cheat us!”

Molly descended the stairs, his scimitars no longer icy. He sheathed one and removed a glass vial from a side pouch. Vivienne took a step away as if to run, and Molly closed the gap between them in a flash, his remaining scimitar flying up to press against her throat. “You can lose a vial, or you can lose it all,” he said pleasantly. “Seems an easy enough choice to me.”

Jester had seen Cree take blood dozens of times. She had mastered some strange magical technique that allowed her to draw it out quickly and painlessly. It was a mesmerizing thing to watch.

Molly had no such expertise. His scimitar flicked away from her throat and opened a slash along her shoulder. Vivienne screamed as blood poured forth from the wound, soaking her fine silk sleeves. Molly pressed the vial against her shoulder, letting blood slowly filter into it. When he was done, he pulled it away, corking it and stowing it back in the pouch.

Vivienne was breathing heavily, trying very hard not to hyperventilate. Jester rolled her eyes. “He barely even cut you,” she said exasperatedly. She spoke a quick word of divine power, and Vivienne’s scratch abruptly scabbed over. That was apparently the last straw – Vivienne collapsed to her knees.

Jester rolled her eyes again. Nobles.

“Kara,” she called to her lieutenant, a young half-elf woman with auburn hair, “take her upstairs and pay her for her drugs. Molly, bring the blood and come with me. The fun part's done.” With that, Jester turned and marched towards the sewer entrance.

* * *

Jester and Molly followed the same route through the sewers that they’d followed every day in the week since the fall of the White Peacock. The Gentleman had decided that it would be safer if no one saw their people entering the painter’s shop, so Molly had helped Jester and the rest of the Troupe that would be crewing the new headquarters learn the path through the sewer.

The Gentleman had wanted to put Molly to work as a street grifter immediately after, but Jester had successfully argued that he would be useful for ensnaring the old contacts of the White Peacocks. His charm and clever speech kept them from spooking immediately, and the trick he did with his scimitars – he called it a crimson rite – added some much-needed extra menace whenever Jester needed to make threats. It wasn’t quite as effective as having someone more physically imposing would be, but the Gentleman couldn’t afford to keep lending her Sorah. She intended to bring in Yasha to serve as her bodyguard eventually, but Jester knew how much she was helping Beau recover from her injuries. She could wait until Beau was well again.

Today and every day, Jester had been returning to the Evening Nip an hour early so she could check on Beau. The workout regime she and Yasha had developed was intense. As far as Jester could tell, it basically kept Beau busy for a full eight hours a day. Jester knew from Yasha that the first half of the day was focused on weight training and various exercises to restore Beau's flexibility, increase her endurance, and strengthen her muscles. But when Jester went to check on them after she had returned for the evenings, she had found Yasha spotting Beau as she flowed through a series of strange stances, her limbs contorting into odd alignments and uncomfortable looking shapes. Some of these stretches seemed to require quite a bit of balance – balance that Beau mostly lacked, prompting Yasha to catch her before she crashed to the floor. Some of the maneuvers were much more kinetic, however, almost dance-like.

The first time Jester had walked in on this, she had caught Beau in the middle of a clumsy pirouette. Literally caught – Beau’s balance and physique had still been appalling then, and Jester had barely caught her in time to prevent her from faceplanting into the doorframe.

Beau looked up at her with a wide smile, sweat running in rivulets down her face. “Thanks, J – Sapphire.”

Jester’s eyes flicked quickly to Yasha, but if she’d noticed Beau’s slip with her name, she hadn’t let on. Jester pulled Beau back to her feet. “Oh, sure,” she said, returning Beau’s smile. Beau took a few steps back, her legs buckling at the knee. She caught herself, though, and reset into a neutral stance.

“I didn’t know you were a dancer, Beau,” Jester said. It seemed like a weird way to get back in shape, but it wasn’t exactly something Jester was familiar with.

“I’m not, really,” said Beau, her brows furrowing in concentration. “The monks at the Cobalt Soul have this weird thing they do where they try to use their whole body as a weapon. I’ve seen their practices like, twenty times. I think I remember enough to give it a try.”

“Huh, that’s pretty cool,” Jester said. She wondered if that was kind of like how Sorah fought. She’d have to ask her later. “I guess hitting people in the head a few times would make it a lot easier to cut them open with your dagger. How is Thed’s dagger working for you, by the way?” she asked.

Beau shrugged, then raised one leg off the ground, bending it at the knee. Even that simple act of balance had her shaking like a leaf. “Dunno,” said Beau, her face pinched with concentration. “I’m not using it.”

“What? Why not?” Jester glanced around the room, searching for it. It took a moment for her to spot it; the dagger lay on the floor, shoved carelessly halfway under Beau’s dresser.

“Because – fuck!” Beau cried out as she started to fall. Jester hurried over to try to catch her, but Yasha was there first, her strong hands gripping Beau’s shoulders firmly and steadying her. Jester felt vaguely irritated.

Beau fixed her with a serious, pained gaze. “Because it didn’t save him,” she said, “and it didn’t save me either. That spider savaged me – it nearly fucking killed me.”

“It saved me!” said Jester heatedly, feeling hurt. “And then I saved you. It’s insane not to carry a weapon, Beau!”

“What’s insane is that I relied on it in the first place,” Beau shot back. “The moment my dagger left my hand, all I could do was run. The moment I missed my second throw, I was completely fucked – there was nothing I could do to keep the spider from ripping my guts out of my chest. You don’t get it,” she continued, “you have magic to fall back on. You don’t know what it’s like to be helpless. I don’t want to have to rely on anything – or anyone – ever again.”

 _I don’t know what it’s like to be helpless?_ Jester bit back the blistering response that was forming on her tongue. She could see how badly Beau was hurting right now; of course she hated the idea of relying on anything when she could barely shit without someone to help her up. Jester swallowed her anger, doing her best to ignore how it burned and scoured all the way down to her toes. “Whatever you say, Beau,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “I’m sorry you didn’t like my present.”

Beau started to protest, but Jester turned with a smile to Yasha. “Thanks for helping her out, Yasha,” she said. “I’ll see you both at dinner!”

In spite of hiccups like that, Jester was still happier than she could remember being, and that was thanks in no small part to her new breakfast and dinner routines. She took every meal with Beau, Yasha, and Molly now. Getting to eat with a genuine friend was pleasure enough, but Yasha and Molly were also fantastic companions. They were both very charming and interesting, albeit in very different ways, and neither of them behaved much like the other members of the Gentleman’s Troupe. Maybe they could all be friends eventually.

It definitely didn’t hurt that the food had gotten way better this past week. There was always ham or sausage with the breakfast porridge, and dinner frequently featured deliciously seasoned vegetables as well as savory meats. Jester suspected that her dad was trying to make sure that Beau was getting enough to eat while she recovered, but all he’d said when she’d asked him about it was, “We got a nice little cash infusion from selling off the White Peacock’s old inventory. Why shouldn’t we all enjoy it a little bit?”

Jester climbed out of the sewer entrance below the Evening Nip and made her way to the tavern room, Molly close on her heels. The room was mostly empty – her dad must be in a meeting, and Seamus was preparing dinner.

“Go find Cree,” Jester said as she wandered over to a table. Tracking the more reticent of the White Peacock’s old contacts was something that the Gentleman had only agreed to reluctantly; Cree was already pushing her limits just tracking all of the current Troupe members.

“Maybe you should give it to her,” Molly suggested, taking a seat next to Jester. “You know the details of our new friend better than I do. Besides, I don’t think she’s back from training your new sewer runner yet.”

Jester had forgotten that Cree was working with Thed’s replacement. Still, Molly’s reluctance was a little weird. “I thought you two were friends,” Jester said. “Why have you been avoiding her?”

Molly shrugged. “We _were_ friends,” he answered, “but there are parts of my past that I’d rather not be reminded of. It’s nothing against Cree personally.”

“I don’t think you should cut off friends because you went through something bad with them,” Jester said. “They’re still your friends.”

“Do you honestly not have anything you’d rather forget about?” asked Molly. “Do you not have anyone you’d rather not see again?”

“Of course I do! But I don’t have any friends I wouldn’t want to see again – that’s stupid!”

“To each their own, I suppose,” Molly said carelessly. He hopped to his feet and headed to the kitchen to bug Seamus about food.

Jester heard a creaking sound and glanced up to see the door to Beau’s room open. Laughter billowed into the room as Beau staggered out, her face full of exhausted exaltation. Behind her came Yasha, smiling. Yasha’s smile transformed her whole aspect, Jester thought. It was shy and sweet, and it drained any menace that she might otherwise give off.

Beau looked down and met Jester’s eyes. Her smile grew wider. “Hey Sapphire!” she called, and Jester watched as she began making her way, somewhat unsteadily, down the stairs. Her workout clothes gave Jester an excellent view of her form. She was still too thin – some things took time to fix – but she was no longer emaciated, and the weight she had put on included a lot more muscle than before. Her abs practically shone in the warm light of the tavern, glistening with sweat. Her shoulders and biceps too had acquired a lot of definition. The sides of her head were freshly shaved. She looked… impressive.

Still, Beau’s gait wasn’t exactly even and steady, though Jester was unsure how much of that was the workout and how much was whiskey. She knew that Beau kept a bottle by her bed now. When she’d asked about it, Beau had said it was to dull her aches enough to get up in the mornings. And to keep them dulled so she could manage eight hours of workouts. And to celebrate a hard day’s work afterwards.

Still, Jester smiled to see her, and waved a hello. As Beau and Yasha reached the table, Molly emerged from the back with an irritated-looking Seamus, steaming plates of food in hand. He set them down quickly. Molly took his seat.

Beau passed Seamus a handful of coins. “Thanks man. Bring us some wine?” she asked. “We’re celebrating tonight.”

Seamus rolled his eyes, but he took Beau’s coins with a nod.

“What are we celebrating tonight?” Jester asked curiously.

“I’ve got permission to hit the streets again tomorrow!” Beau said, beaming. “I’m getting some new clothes from Dekkar, then I’m back to work.”

“Oh Beau that’s awesome!” Jester said, leaning across the table to hug her, almost spilling the plates of mutton pie in front of them.

“I can’t wait to see you in action,” Molly said, smiling.

“Yes, congratulations,” Yasha added, warm but quiet.

“Thanks guys.” Beau leaned forward excitedly. “First chance I get, I’m heading back to the Cobalt Soul. I can’t wait to rub it in Zeenoth’s smug fucking face that he has to buy from us again, and I want another look at how the monks move. I want to measure how well I’ve been learning.”

Seamus returned, setting a cup of milk in front of Jester and pouring wine for everyone else. Jester raised her glass. “Here’s to Beau!” she said dramatically.

The other’s raised their glasses. “Here here!” said Molly. Beau flushed and looked away, but her smile didn’t vanish.

There was a pause as they all drank. Then Beau lowered her glass with a contented sigh. “Fuck, that’s good,” she said. She looked at Jester and raised an eyebrow. “You want some? Guarantee it’ll be the best you’ve ever had.”

Jester laughed. “No, but thank you.”

She turned towards Yasha. “So if Beau’s back in shape, that means you get to come work with me and Molly now!” Jester said enthusiastically.

“I guess so,” said Yasha. “Have you needed a bodyguard while I wasn’t there?”

“Oh not really, but we’ve had a fun time intimidating people! There was this super stuck-up lady today that almost peed her pants when Molly took his swords out! And earlier…” Jester continued recounting her exploits enthusiastically, basking in the warm glow of their companionship. Molly interjected from time to time, his wry comments eliciting laughter and starting long tangents.

Finally, when their plates were empty, their cups dry, and the tavern room had filled completely with people as the day came to a proper end, a comfortable silence settled over their table. Jester sat back, belly full and feeling sleepy.

Beau stretched, her body long and languid, her face contorting into one of pure bliss as her back cracked. She let out a sigh, then said, “Okay, I’m not ready to call it a night yet. I’m gonna stretch my legs. Who wants to come to the Shuttered Candle with me?” When no one answered, Beau said, “C’mon guys, I’m buying! Celebrate with me!”

Jester felt her face flush. She didn’t _think_ that that was what Beau had been trying to imply, but the mental image was still a lot. Next to her, Yasha shifted uncomfortably. Jester thought she might’ve been blushing too.

“I, um, don’t think that’s the kind of thing I want to do right now,” Yasha said quietly.

“I’ll stay here with Yasha,” Jester said. “It’s not really my scene, and the owner of the Shuttered Candle banned me from hanging out in the lobby.”

“Why ever would she do that?” Molly asked curiously

Jester shrugged. “Some of her customers really can’t take a joke I guess.”

Molly smiled widely. “That is a story you absolutely have to tell me sometime. Not tonight, though – I would love to go with you Beau.”

Beau looked vaguely disappointed for a moment, but her expression shifted back to a smile quickly. “Alright, we’ll catch you two later.”

As Beau and Molly meandered towards the exit, Jester heard him say, “I’ve never been to this establishment before. Do you have any recommendations?”

“I could suggest a few…” Beau’s response was lost to Jester as they exited the tavern.

Jester turned to Yasha, who was staring after them with a strange look on her face. “What do you want to do now?”

Yasha regarded Jester seriously. “Would you like to have sex with me?”

Jester was dumbstruck. She opened her mouth, sputtering and searching for a response, when Yasha’s eyes twinkled and the corner of her lip pulled up into a very slight smile.

“That was a joke,” she said.

Jester stopped babbling. For a moment she just stared at Yasha. Then she burst out laughing, falling halfway out of her chair and banging her fist on the table as she struggled to breathe through the gleeful gasps pouring from her mouth. Yasha started laughing too, a gentle, beautiful thing that drifted through the air like music, filling the tavern with joy.

* * *

It was hours before Beau staggered back down the stairs to the lobby of the Shuttered Candle, soaked in a different kind of sweat and full of a much sweeter soreness than she’d experienced since the spider. She turned to her companion, a pale human woman with platinum blonde hair, and dropped a few extra coins into her hand. “To cover the cleaning,” Beau explained, a little embarrassed. She’d spilled the bottle of wine they’d been sharing in her eagerness to get the woman out of her clothes. “And a little extra for a job well done.” The woman – maybe her name was Sara? – smiled at Beau and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before heading off to freshen up.

Beau looked around the faux-richly decorated lounge, squinting against the bright candlelight. It’d be nice if the Shuttered Candle lived up to its name, although Beau had to admit that she was maybe a bit drunk. Still, it didn’t take long to spot Molly lounging on a loveseat, a well-chiseled man under each arm. Beau recognized one of them as the one who’d been with the Gentleman and Sorah when she’d gone to play Uno.

“About bloody time you came up for air,” he called out as Beau approached. “I was just about to take these fine gentlemen upstairs for another round!”

“I like to do things right,” Beau called back. “Not my fault if you can’t keep up.”

Molly smirked. “I like this place. I’ll have to come back some time.”

“Yeah, they’ve got, like, a rewards program for frequent customers. You should grab a card at the front desk.” Beau reached down and pulled him up, somehow keeping her feet as the entire world spun around her. Okay, maybe she was very drunk.

Molly gave a languid wave to his companions. “Thanks for the night, boys!”

The cool night air hit Beau like a hammer as they emerged onto the dark street. She realized she was still holding Molly’s hand and immediately let go.

“Well, I’m bushed,” Molly said with a yawn. “You know the way back to the Nip?”

“Sure. Give me a minute to orient myself and shit.” Beau blinked hard, trying to clear her head a bit. No luck. Still, she had a good sense of direction, and this wasn’t exactly an unfamiliar route. She gestured down a side street. “Let’s go.”

They started down the road. More of an alley, actually, now that Beau thought of it. Molly kept a hand on a scimitar, but they seemed to be alone. “Might be a good idea for you to stay behind me,” he suggested lightly.

“I can fuckin’ take care of myself,” Beau said belligerently, her words slurring together. Everything felt a bit dreamlike, a bit fuzzy.

“You’re adorable,” Molly responded. “Even if you weren’t piss drunk, you’re unarmed.”

“I don’t need swords or shit to handle myself!” Beau insisted angrily. “I’ve been practicing.”

“I’m sure a week of sweaty slow dances with Yasha has made you a mighty warrior,” said Molly.

“Hey fuck you, man.” It was a moot point, though. The alley had given way to a main road, a little better lit and with a few people going about late-night business. There were even a few Crownsguard making a slow patrol. “I don’t need your goddam condescension,” Beau continued. “I don’t even fucking like you.”

“Oh, but you like Yasha, is that it? And you like Jester?”

“Keep her name out of your fucking mouth!” Beau shoved him, hard. “She didn’t give it to you – you don’t get to call her that!”

“She really shouldn’t have trusted it to someone like you,” Molly said, a hint of anger in his voice as he straightened his coat. “You’re a terrible secret keeper. She should’ve known that everyone would be calling her that the moment she let you hear it.”

“Go fuck yourself, _Lucien_.”

Molly stiffened. “Point taken,” he said, sounding pained.

 _Serves him right,_ Beau thought vindictively.

They kept walking in silence for a moment, Beau still stewing. Then she said, “And so what if I was hoping Yasha would come out with me? You’re not exactly my type, but she’s hot as fuck.” For a moment, she indulged in a vivid mental image of Yasha as she looked during their training sessions, muscles straining and gleaming, skin soft and scarred in equal parts… but completely naked. Unbidden, the mental image shifted to Jester. Beau flushed - that felt more invasive, somehow. Guiltier. She shook her head, dispelling the fantasy.

“Yasha can do whatever she likes with you, it’s not any of my bloody business,” Molly said, and Beau thought she could hear through his uncaring affect this time. “But as her friend, I don’t think you’re really what she’s looking for. So just, you know, be decent about it.”

“Fucking hell, I’m not a creep, Mollymauk!” Beau said, exasperated. “If she’s not interested in my, my advances or whatever the fuck, I’m not gonna keep pushing.”

“There’s more to being decent than not being a bad loser,” Molly said.

“If you’re worried about me leading her on, don’t. Even if I decide to pursue her – and just so we’re clear, that’s a big if – I’m not going to get romantic or attached or whatever. Your buddy Cree gave me some pretty good advice about that.”

Molly snorted.

Beau narrowed her eyes at him, trying to bring him into better focus. “How do you two know each other, anyway?”

Molly shrugged, looking away. “How does anyone know anyone, really?” he said bitterly.

A decent person would’ve left it there, but Beau didn’t think she’d ever seen him look uncomfortable before. It was something she could absolutely get used to. But before she could decide exactly how to push, her foot caught on a loose cobblestone, and she faceplanted hard into the road.

It was surprising how little it hurt. The pain was dull, like it was happening to another person. Still, her head spun like merry-go-round cranked by a giant, and if Molly hadn’t pulled her to her feet, Beau thought she probably would’ve laid in the road until morning. She opened her mouth to thank him, but the sound of raucous, cruel laughter caught her attention.

Halfway up the block, a pair of human men, youngish looking, stood chatting. One of them had his head thrown back, howling with laughter like a fucking hyena. Their eyes weren’t on Beau at the moment, but it was obvious what the joke was. Beau pulled free of Molly’s grip and stormed towards them.

“Hey, the fuck are you laughing at?” Beau all but yelled at the man.

They turned towards her, surprise and contempt clear on their faces. They each had a club dangling loosely in their grasp down at their sides. The one who had been laughing raised an eyebrow and took a step toward her. “Lady, what the fuck are you-“

Beau hit him. Her whole body uncoiled like a spring, just like she’d been practicing, driving her fist forward with extraordinary force towards his face. It was a punch designed to knock someone out, or at least to stun them so badly that they’d be completely at her mercy.

Her fist impacted with a solid thunk, knocking his face to the side. But it didn’t stun him. Instead, he staggered back a step, swearing profusely, and swung his club at her side with a ferocious yell. Beau spun away in a pirouette that should preserve the momentum of her dodge for a follow-up strike, but his club impacted her squarely in the chest.

The force of the blow drove her back, and she tripped over her own feet, falling. She attempted to roll into a handspring to regain her footing, but her momentum ran out before her feet were high enough. Beau swore violently as she came crashing back down in a heap, then let out a cry of pain as the man aimed a kick at her, driving his toe into her stomach. She curled into it, getting her knees under her, and she rose to her feet with a clumsy, vicious uppercut aimed squarely for his groin. At least that worked as intended. He crumpled inward with a cry of agony, and Beau regained her feet, staggering back a few steps as she tried to assess the situation.

There was a clattering sound, and suddenly the two Crownsguard on patrol were standing next to her, spears at the ready. Shit.

“The hell’s going on here?” one of them demanded.

“Are you alright?” the other one asked the man Beau had punched, helping him back to his feet.

The man shook his head violently. “This bitch just fucking attacked me!” he said, spit flying. “Just out of the fucking blue! I didn’t do shit!”

His friend nodded. “It’s true, I saw the whole thing.”

The first guard turned towards Beau. His nose wrinkled in disgust. “You’ve been hitting the bottle pretty hard tonight, ain’t ya? Got anything to say for yourself?”

“Yeah, this fucker laughed at me when I tripped!” Beau said as angrily as she could, knowing exactly how feeble it sounded.

“I didn’t even see her fall!” the man insisted indignantly. Apparently he was a convincing liar.

The guard nodded. He turned to Molly. “You with her?” he demanded.

“Only in the loosest sense,” said Molly, his hands held up apologetically. “I just thought she looked like she needed help getting home.”

“Right. Well, if you still want to play the saint, you can come collect her in the morning.” He grabbed Beau firmly by the shoulder. “We’re taking her to the guardhouse to sleep it off.”

“Fuck that!” Beau spat.

The guard’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You want us to add some assault charges to that, go ahead and resist. We’re letting you off easy! Come on.” The guards each took one of her arms and marched her down the street.

Beau looked desperately over her shoulder at Molly, who shrugged helplessly. Beau felt panic rising in her chest. As they rounded the corner, she tried to tear free and take off running. She got one arm free, but the other guard held on firm, and her punches fell helplessly on his mail armor. He grabbed her and pinned both her arms behind her back. The other guard hefted his spear and slammed her in the chest hard with the butt of it, once, twice, three times, until Beau hung limp from his compatriot’s grasp. She didn’t resist after that.

They threw her bodily into a large cell of damp stone, already occupied by a few other people. As Beau spat the blood out of her mouth, and slowly got to her knees, she wondered if she looked as pathetic as the rest of them. She probably did.

It was a long, cold night. For the first few hours, the warmth of her many drinks kept the chill away from her bones, but eventually Beau succumbed to vicious shivers. She huddled in a corner, hoping desperately that her body would eventually warm the stone around her enough to provide a modicum of comfort.

She was miserable. Still, better to get used to it. The way her life was going now, it would almost certainly end in a place like this. Only took one customer to get pissed off enough to rat her out to the guard. Or maybe she’d just die the next time she stumbled across something like that spider. She’d almost died to the first one, and she was as pathetic a fighter as she’d ever been. Thed had been a veteran, a professional, and it hadn’t saved him in the end. What chance did she have?

Beau wondered what had happened to Thed’s body. How had it not occurred to her to ask that? Did they leave it? Burn it? Return it to his family? He had family in Felderwin, she remembered dimly. He had tried to tell her about them once, but she’d brushed him off. Why had she done that? There was so much she didn’t know about her friend, so much she would never know. Beau wept for him all over again, there in that cell. If the other drunks looked at her with scorn, so what? She’d already proven she couldn’t do anything about it.

She wasn’t entirely sure whether her bitter ruminations had ever crossed over into dreams, but eventually light crept in through the bars of the cell. Beau blinked blearily in it. It seemed far too bright for her eyes, but so had candles not so long ago. She was probably still drunk. Maybe that was why, when they released the others, she was made to stay, sitting alone now in a cell that was far too large for her. Its largeness was crushing. It wasn’t until the bright light of the morning had mellowed into the gentle yellow of the afternoon that a guard came again to the cell door and opened it for her.

Beau stepped stiffly into the open street of Zadash. It was indeed noon – the city was bustling. Her tongue felt dry and swollen, her throat and lips cracked and chapped, and a pounding headache was forming behind her eyes. Her stomach rumbled.

“Hey.”

Beau turned in surprise to see Mollymauk walking towards her. He had deep bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept, and his coat was rumpled and a bit askew.

“Hey,” she said back, uncertainly.

“I was wondering when they were going to let you out,” he said. “When you weren’t released with the rest, I went in to see what was going on. Apparently they hit you with an assault charge after all.”

“Oh yeah,” Beau grimaced. “That was probably because I punched the guard and tried to run.”

“Shame it didn’t work, that would’ve been a great story.” Molly smiled tiredly. “Turns out the guards are happy to forget minor offenses like that if someone pays them the ‘fine’ directly. You owe me 150 gold.”

“Thanks,” Beau said. She felt… foolish. Embarrassed. “And thanks for not leaving me in there. I, uh, wasn’t very nice to you last night.”

Molly laughed. “If you were nice, you’d be boring. Now let’s get going – the boss might still decide to kill us.”

“Oh shit, I didn’t even think about that! Fuck, I need a drink.”

“It might help with the giant fuck of a hangover I assume you’re having also.”

“It’s actually not too bad yet,” Beau said. She grimaced. “I might still be a little drunk.”

Laughing like fools, they made their way back towards the Evening Nip. Beau smiled as it came into view.

Then a wave of force slammed into her, driving her to her knees as an enormous booming blast echoed over the city.

Ears ringing, Beau searched around desperately for the source of this sudden onslaught. Her eyes tracked up to the skyline. She had just identified a weird trickle of smoke coming from the Tri-Spire district when a second explosion rocked the city, and she saw one of the towers explode outward, flying figures emerging from the wound.

She looked at Molly. He looked dumbstruck, his eyes wide. His words hissed out of him in a light, terrified whisper.

"Oh fuck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. Isn't it great to see how well everyone is coping with stuff?  
> Edit: A few paragraphs elucidating Jester's motivation and thought process have been added near the beginning. On a reread, I realized that she's doing too good of a job repressing for her actual motivations to stay clear to the reader. Hope that helps!


	10. Eye of the Storm

The streets were chaos. Everywhere people screamed and ran for cover as if the next thing to explode would be the street beneath them. For all Beau knew, they were right. It was the same on every street she and Molly passed as they ran for the Evening Nip. On one corner, a crier stood, shaking with fear but holding their ground as they screamed their message to all passersby.

“Kryn attack on the Tri-spire! Kryn attack on the Tri-spire!” they yelled hoarsely. “All civilians return to your homes and comply with any orders given by the Crownsguard or the Righteous Brand!”

They reached the front door of the Evening Nip. Beau threw it open and ushered Molly through, ducking in after him. Clive was standing behind the bar, rigid, his eyes wide with fear or excitement; Beau wasn’t quite sure which. Clive was an odd one.

“You’re a pair of lucky fucks, you know that?” he said as he hurried to let them down the stairs. “The Gentleman’s been livid about you two going AWOL for sixteen bloody hours, but he might just forget to gut you now that the sky’s falling.”

“Yeah, I feel real fuckin’ blessed,” Beau said. She was surprised to find her breathing quite steady. All that training had been good for something at least.

It was calmer below than she would've expected. It could’ve been a normal afternoon if not for a couple of key differences. Most immediately noticeable was the lack of merchandise laid out on the floor for inventory. Instead, the small group of people who normally handled that job were hurriedly ferrying goods below to the storehouses. The Gentleman sat at his normal table, but his entourage was different than usual. Sorah and Dweez were present, but Cree was absent. Her normal chair was occupied by Jester, who was rolling a paintbrush nervously in her fingers. Hovering behind her, looking somewhat uncomfortable, stood Yasha. From the way her eyes kept flicking to Sorah, Beau thought she was trying to mirror the goliath’s posture.

All eyes at the table turned to Beau and Molly as soon as they entered. Jester hopped to her feet and rushed over. “Beau!” she cried out, and before Beau knew what was happening, Jester had wrapped her in a tight hug. Beau surprised herself by returning it, squeezing Jester hard against herself. She was warm. Beau’s stomach felt kind of funny, all of a sudden. Must be her hangover setting in.

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” Jester said, giving Beau another tight squeeze for just a moment before pulling back a bit to look her in the eye.

“Yeah,” Beau said, her throat suddenly dry, “Me too. It was, uh, maybe a little touch and go for a bit.” She was dimly aware of Yasha standing nearby, gripping Molly by the shoulders and murmuring something to him.

“Where were you this morning?” Jester asked. “I thought maybe you’d just gotten tied up at the Shuttered Candle, but when you still weren’t back by noon-“ She broke off, here eyes widening. “Wait, were you, like, literally tied up? And they did such a good job that they couldn’t get the knots undone and then they had to go find something to cut you out?”

Beau laughed. “I wish,” she said, “that would’ve been way more fun than what actually happened.”

“That is a story I’m very eager to hear.” The Gentleman’s voice rang out as sharp and cold as an iceflex blade. He stood behind his table, gazing down at Beau with a deep anger glittering in the depths of his eyes.

He made his way around the table slowly, deliberately, keeping his eyes locked squarely on Beau. “I was surprised to discover that you, Beauregard, who have been so eager to return to work, did not put in an appearance at breakfast on the day you were to return to work. Imagine how much my surprise deepened when I discovered your bed empty.”

The Gentleman stepped in very close to Beau, uncomfortably close. Beau forced herself to keep meeting his gaze. She tried to keep his hands in her peripheral vision; she knew how fast he could produce a blade when he cared to. “If Cree had not left before I noticed your absence, I would’ve used her to locate you. She finds it taxing to look in on someone in enough detail to find them, and I do not care to overtax her. As I did not need to do that, I will offer you the chance to explain yourself before I decide what is to be done with you.”

Beau’s head was beginning to pound badly. She forced herself to remain focused and intense. “I was returning from the Shuttered Candle,” she said, “Some Crownsguard were bored with patrol and decided to antagonize me. Once they were reasonably sure I’d had something to drink that night, they decided to break up the monotony by throwing me in the drunk tank. I only just got out. That’s all.”

The Gentleman raised an eyebrow. “The drunk tank lets out at first light. It is considerably later than that. Think very carefully about how you want to explain that missing time.”

“Actually, I think I can speak to that a little better than she can,” Molly chimed in.

The Gentleman turned to face him. Beau let out her breath quickly while he looked away. “I was going to get to you next, Tealeaf,” he said, “but feel free to speak up now if you prefer.”

“Oh, it would be my pleasure,” Molly said with a mocking half bow. “I’m sure you’ve noticed what Beau thinks of bullies and assholes, and when she told the guards exactly what she thought of them, they decided to spin it as assault. It took me quite a few hours and several rigged card games to get them to release her.”

He paused for a moment and looked at Beau. Beau met his eyes and wondered what he was going to demand as payment for covering for her. Whatever strange understanding they had reached last night aside, this was not the kind of person she wanted to be indebted to. More indebted to.

Molly turned back to the Gentleman and flashed him a smile. “One of the guards did offer me a chicken that lays golden eggs instead of her, for the record. If you’d rather have that, I could go give her back.”

“Fuck you, Molly,” Beau said, rolling her eyes.

The Gentleman chuckled. “You should know better than to antagonize the Crownsguard, Beau,” he said, “but I think that many hours in the drunk tank is punishment enough for your foolishness. You are very fortunate that Molly convinced them to release you; if you were being charged, we would be having a very different conversation.” He looked at Beau seriously. “If you acquire a record, you will no longer be able to do the job I need you to do. Do not make yourself a liability. Am I understood?”

“Perfectly,” Beau said stiffly.

The Gentleman’s aspect relaxed slightly, and he smiled. “Clive claimed that there was an explosion and that the Crownsguard and Righteous Brand were taking to the streets en masse,” he said. “Did you see any of that on your way here?”

“Yeah,” said Beau. “The explosion was in the Tri-spire. A crier we passed said it was the Kryn.”

“That’s unfortunate. A Kryn attack will keep soldiers in the street a long time.” The Gentleman stepped back.

“Attention!” he yelled, addressing the room. “The Righteous Brand are on the lookout for Xhorhasian soldiers in the city! That means they will be on high alert! Until Clive gives us the all clear, none of you are to leave this room!” He paused for a moment, letting his instructions sink in. Then he continued. “Be alert! If they start sweeping building by building, we may need to leave at a moment’s notice!”

Beau expected murmuring or something, but the room was quiet. She supposed there weren’t that many people there, but still. It seemed like kind of a big deal for everyone to just take calmly.

His address finished, the Gentleman turned his attention back to Beau, Jester, Molly, and Yasha. “Hopefully the rest of our people will have the good sense to lie low until this passes,” he said. “In the meantime, find a seat. Find some cards, maybe. I’ve got a lot to do, and I bet we’ll be here awhile.” He gave them each a nod, then returned to his table.

Beau turned to the others. “I need a drink,” she said. “Anyone else?”

“Sure,” said Molly. Yasha nodded.

Beau turned to Jester. “Milk?”

“Yes please,” Jester said, smiling. “We’ll get a table.”

Beau walked up to the bar. Seamus was leaning against it, having a drink of his own. “I’ll take three whiskeys and a milk,” Beau said.

Seamus set his drink down with a sigh. He reached under the counter and pulled up a bottle of milk, a bottle of whiskey, and four glasses. “Serve yourself today,” he said wearily. “I need a break.”

“Sure man. Thanks.” Beau scooped them up and carried them over to the table where her friends were sitting. Well, where her friends and Molly were sitting, anyway.

She set the bottles down on the table and started pouring drinks for everyone.

“Thank you,” Yasha murmured as Beau passed her a glass of whiskey. Jester and Molly murmured their thanks as well.

Beau sat down, filled her own glass with a generous measure of whiskey, then downed it in three quick swallows. That oughta help with her headache.

She refilled her glass and turned to Molly. “Thanks for covering for me,” she said grudgingly.

Molly shrugged lazily. “I’m no snitch,” he said. “Besides, what’s the point of being a criminal if you’re not going to lie to the boss every once in a while?”

“Wait, you lied to my dad?” Jester leaned forward, her eyes widening. “What really happened? Were you _actually_ tied up in a brothel?”

Beau shifted uncomfortably. “I, uh, I picked a fight with some asshole on the way home,” she said, feeling somewhat ashamed of herself. “That’s why they held me for assault.”

“Really, I think we told a very good lie,” said Molly. “We stuck a lot of truth in it.”

“Yeah, it was a good thing you didn’t tell my dad about that,” Jester said. “He doesn’t like it when people are that kind of reckless. Which I understand for things like picking fights and stuff, but some of the stuff he doesn’t like is, like, way more fun than that.”

“Oh my god, do you ever get, like, grounded for your vandalism?” Beau asked, trying to imagine the Gentleman sending Jester to her room.

“No, he usually talks to me about why what I did was stupid, and I nod until he stops,” Jester said. “Mostly he just doesn’t catch me though.”

“That… sounds nice,” Yasha said. “When I was a kid, my tribe didn’t talk to us about our mistakes.”

“Did you get grounded Yasha?” Jester asked.

Yasha nodded. “It took me ages to get all the dirt out of my clothes.”

Beau looked at her incredulously, waiting for her to crack a smile, but Yasha appeared sincere. Jester gave a Beau a wide-eyed look. “Yasha,” she said hesitantly, “what exactly do you mean by –“

“What about you Molly?” Yasha asked, leaning forward eagerly. “How did your parents discipline you?”

“Believe it or not, I was actually a perfect angel of a child,” Molly said. “My parents never even had to raise their voices at me.”

“Bullshit,” said Beau.

“Like I said, believe it or not.” Molly took a long sip of whiskey, grimacing as he swallowed. “Beau, you know that bars serve things beside paint thinner, right?”

“Hey, if you’d rather have beer or wine, you can go get it yourself,” Beau shot back. “Seamus is on break.”

“No, I meant, like, a cocktail, or something else nice. I know this place isn’t exactly posh, but they’ve got to have a few mixers, don’t they?”

“I don’t see why,” Beau said. “The tavern in Kamordah didn’t.”

Molly sat up straight, his expression alarmed. “Oh my god, have you never had a mixed drink?”

Beau shrugged. “Whiskey does just fine for me. It gets the job done.”

“You’ve got to be kidding!” said Molly, “You’re missing out on so much of life! What else haven’t you done?”

“How would she know what she hasn’t done?” Yasha asked reasonably.

“Wait,” Molly said, holding up a finger. “I have an idea.”

They all looked at him expectantly.

“How would you all like to play a drinking game?” Molly asked. “We’re going to be sitting here awhile anyway. It would definitely make it a little more interesting.”

“Sure,” Beau said. “What game were you thinking?”

“Have you all played Never Have I Ever?”

“Of course we have,” said Beau, just as Jester said, “Nope!” and Yasha said, “What is that?”

“Oh this is going to be fun,” Molly said, grinning evilly. “Basically, we each take turns saying that we haven’t done something, and anyone who has done that thing drinks.”

“Does this game work if I’m drinking milk?” asked Jester.

“I mean, it will work, but a lot of the fun is getting each other drunk so that we start hilariously oversharing,” said Molly.

“Oh,” said Jester, sounding slightly crestfallen.

“Want me to pour you a drink?” Beau asked her.

“No, that’s okay,” said Jester. “I’ll just refill my milk and do the best I can.”

“Alright,” said Beau. “Have you ever actually had, like, alcohol before?”

“I have!” Jester said defensively. “I just didn’t really like it, you know?”

“Sure, but not really?”

Molly slapped the table. “See?” he said, “If we were all drunk, you would be telling an embarrassing story about throwing up in your girlfriend’s face the first time you really drank, or whatever it is that actually happened.”

Jester smiled just as evilly as Molly. “I bet you all have a lot of embarrassing stories,” she said, pouring herself a new glass of milk. “Let’s play.”

Molly refilled his drink. “I’ll start,” he said. “We’ll do an easy one first. Never have I ever been outside the Empire.”

Molly drank quickly. Beau rolled her eyes. “Pretty sure you’re not supposed to lie on your turn, but whatever,” she said. Then her eyes widened as she saw Jester and Yasha drink also. They all turned to look at her expectantly, and Beau felt herself flush slightly and pull back.

“I grew up in the middle of nowhere, okay?” she said defensively. “And my family were a bunch of smothering shut-ins who thought the house would turn to ash if they left it.” She turned to Jester. “I didn’t think the Gentleman traveled much,” she said. “I wouldn’t have thought he’d let you go on road trips out of the country.”

“I was actually born on the Menagerie Coast,” said Jester. “We didn’t come here until I was, like, five. But before that, we were pirates!”

“You were pirates?” asked Yasha incredulously.

“Oh yeah!” said Jester enthusiastically. “I mean, my dad was a pirate, and he brought me along.”

“He brought a four-year old onto a pirate ship?” Beau asked. What the fuck was wrong with that guy?

“Oh no, by the time I was four he was leaving me on Darktow while he was on jobs,” said Jester. “I never knew my mom, so he had to keep me with him when I was really little.”

Beau wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Was that super reckless of him or super dedicated? She put it out of her mind and took a drink.

“What about you, Yasha?” Jester asked. “Where have you been outside the Empire?”

Yasha shifted uncomfortably. “Well,” she said uncertainly, “I was born in Xhorhas.”

“No shit,” Beau said, “What was that like?”

“Well, I only really saw my tribe’s village,” Yasha said slowly. “I… I don’t know if my childhood was a normal Xhorhasian childhood.”

“Oh, yeah, that was stupid of me wasn’t it,” Beau said ruefully. “That would be like asking, ‘What’s an Empire childhood like?’ I sure don’t fucking know what it would be like growing up here in Zadash.”

“Yeah, this would be a weird place to grow up,” said Molly. “I’ve been all over, personally. Port Damali, Emon, Vasselheim, you name it. My favorite was Ank’harel, though. I still pretend to be Marquesian royalty for cons sometimes.” He leaned over and nudged Yasha. “Your turn.”

“Oh gosh,” Yasha said, screwing her face in concentration. “Let’s see… Never have I ever eaten a spider.” She immediate took a big drink and looked around at them and grinned.

Beau rolled her eyes and took a drink. Jester drank as well, while Molly just looked vaguely amused. Yasha looked impressed. “You’ve both eaten a whole spider?” she asked.

Jester nodded vigorously. “I lived on a boat, remember? The bread was full of weevils. Those are a kind of spider.”

“Yeah, when I was little, I used to eat dirt to piss off my dad,” Beau said. “Sometimes there were things in the dirt.”

“Come on, miniature spiders don’t count!” Yasha insisted. “I was clearly talking about regular spiders!”

“Yasha, what the fuck is a ‘regular’ spider to you?” Beau asked.

“Oh you know!” Yasha said, gesturing loosely. “Like, the size of the phase spider in the sewers!”

“What the fuck Yasha, you ate one of those by yourself?” Jester said, sounding appalled but also a little impressed.

“And kept it down, too!” Yasha said proudly. “I was the youngest person in my tribe to ever manage it.”

“That is so much spider…” Jester whispered, awestruck.

Beau bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Molly had no such restraint. Soon they were all laughing uproariously, even Yasha. When they finally calmed down, Jester wiped a tear from her eye.

“Okay okay okay,” she said excitedly, “never have I ever stolen someone’s pants!”

Beau didn’t even pretend surprise when Jester drank to that, even as she and Molly joined her.

They were all quiet for a moment, waiting for someone to ask, but then Molly cracked a smile and said, “You know what? I’m happier not having any context for that.”

“Aw man!” said Jester, “My story is really good you guys!”

Beau leaned towards her. “Tell me your story Jester,” she said playfully. Her eyes widened as she realized her slip.

If Jester noticed, though, she didn’t react, instead leaning towards Beau, her purple eyes alight with excitement. “Okay so, there was this person my dad was seeing a lot, right, except they were, like, really snooty and not very nice and my dad could do way better. So anyway, one night when they came over, I snuck into my dad’s room and stole their pants. And then! And then,” Jester said, trying and failing to keep from cracking up, “I snuck down to the kitchen, and I filled their pockets with tapioca pudding. And I unpicked their inseam and resewed it to make a bunch of hidden pockets, and I filled them with tapioca too, and then I put the pants back, and they didn’t even notice ‘cause they were too busy boning. But when they tried to leave, there was just tapioca running all down their legs and into their shoes and in a trail behind them like a slug, and they were way smaller than my dad so they couldn’t just borrow his pants, they actually had to walk slowly out of the Evening Nip and back to their home like that, and they squelched when they moved.”

Jester took a deep breath and leaned back from Beau, looking around the table giddily. Everyone was quiet for a moment. Then Beau said, “Holy fuck, that’s funny. I can’t top that story.”

“Me neither,” said Molly, shaking his head in awe as he poured more whiskey. “Your turn Beau.”

Beau sat back in her chair and took a drink, pondering. She was just on the heavy side of buzzed, and she felt pleasantly floaty and disconnected. So she figured she'd ask something that she’d been idly curious about for a while now.

“Never have I ever had sex,” Beau said, keeping her eyes fixed squarely on Yasha. She took a quick drink of her own, but she made sure her eyes stayed focused. Yasha noticed her scrutiny, hesitated for a moment, then drank.

Beau suddenly felt awkward. “Interesting, interesting,” she muttered, trying to cover up her own discomfort. “Sorry if that was a weird thing to choose. I was just curious if that was why you didn’t want to come with me and Molly last night.”

Yasha shook her head. “No, I’ve had sex before. I… I didn’t want to go with you two last night because… because I miss her.”

Beau felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. “Who do you miss?” she heard herself ask.

Yasha looked down at her cup, swirling its contents. After a long moment, she answered, very quietly, “My wife.”

“Oh shit,” Beau said numbly. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s fine,” Yasha said, cutting her off. “I’d just rather not talk about that tonight is all.”

Beau nodded once quickly. She wanted to say something else but couldn’t think of any words that wouldn’t be worse. Instead she finished her drink.

“The Sapphire didn’t drink to that,” said Molly slyly.

Beau looked over to Jester incredulously. Jester wrapped her arms around herself defensively. “What?” she said loudly, answering Beau’s stare.

“Nothing,” Beau said, “I just assumed, what with how, I don’t know, comfortable you are about it, and how open your dad is with his sex life, that you had, you know…”

“Maybe I’m not exactly like my dad, Beau!” said Jester indignantly.

“Woah, sorry,” said Beau, feeling alarmed. “I didn’t mean anything by it!”

“Are you asexual?” Molly asked curiously. “That’s perfectly normal, you know. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“No, that’s not – look, let’s just move on okay? Your turn.”

“Okay,” Molly said slowly. “I’m gonna play a hunch here. Never have I ever kissed someone.”

Jester started raising her glass to her mouth, but Molly held up a hand. “On the lips,” he clarified. Jester set her drink back down. “Interesting,” he said.

“Fuck this,” said Jester. She started to stand.

“Wait, please don’t go,” said Beau, reaching out towards her. “We’re not making fun of you, I swear. We’re just, I dunno, surprised? And curious, I guess. But you totally don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Fine.” Jester sat back down. She looked around the table at each of them. “Look, just ask your questions okay?”

“Well,” Beau said, “is your first kiss something you want to just have happen? Because if you’re just looking for an icebreaker, I could kiss you.” She batted her eyelashes dramatically. “I’m told I’m pretty good at it.”

The corner of Jester’s lips twitched into a smile. “Thanks Beau. But I want my first kiss to be with someone special.”

“Ouch,” Beau joked, ignoring the irrational feeling of hurt that welled up in her chest. Why did she feel hurt by that?

Jester looked horrified. “Oh no, that’s not what I meant! I just meant that I wanted to kiss, like, a man, you know?”

“Well, I bet Molly would kiss you if you asked him nicely,” Beau said with a smirk.

“I’m actually not a man,” Molly pointed out.

“Oh, sorry.” Beau turned to Jester and shrugged. “I guess you’re fucked then.”

“I don’t want an icebreaker kiss, Beau,” Jester said, “but thank you for offering.”

“Okay, then what do you want?”

“Oh you know, something meaningful?” Jester gestured vaguely. “In all my favorite stories, the heroine meets a handsome hero and they fall madly in love. I want that. I want it to feel so powerful and enormous and all-encompassing and perfect. I want to meet someone who will love me with their whole being and who I love with mine in return. And I know that I’m not going to meet very many people like that in my line of work – smuggling only attract rugged heroes in stories. I’m not stupid or naïve, no matter what everyone else thinks. I just feel like, if I start settling for less just because what I want is hard, I’ll miss out on my chance when the person I really want finally comes along. You know?”

Beau didn’t, but Yasha nodded slowly. “I know exactly what you mean,” she said softly. “I think it’s very brave of you to chase after what you want, even when it would be easier to settle for what everyone else expects.”

Jester blinked. “Thank you Yasha,” she said. Then very hesitantly, she said, “You’re a good friend.”

Molly clapped his palms together. “Well, thanks for indulging our curiosities,” he said. “Yasha, you got another?”

“Hmmm…” Yasha smiled. “Never have I ever thrown someone off a bridge…”

* * *

Sore and exhausted, but elated, Cree climbed out of the sewer entrance into the Evening Nip. Her bags hung heavy from her shoulders, and she could feel the blood crusted under her claws. She badly wanted to clean herself up, but it could wait. She just needed to check in with the Gentleman, and then she could go find Lucien. He wasn’t going to believe this.

The tavern room was unusually busy for this time of night. She supposed the Kryn attack had everyone a little riled up. They would do better to calm themselves, conserve their strength for the coming days of heightened scrutiny and security. Not that that was her problem, though; she would be long gone.

She approached the Gentleman’s table. Sorah let her pass with a nod. Cree supposed that she would miss the stalwart woman. In another place, she thought they could’ve been friends. Maybe more. The Gentleman looked up, an expression of genuine relief flashing across his face for just a moment. Cree suppressed a snort. He of all people should be better at keeping his feelings down than this.

“You had us worried, Cree,” he said with a smile. “Did the disturbance in the city cause any trouble for you down in the sewers?”

“Some Righteous Brand came snooping,” she responded. “Jesse is dead. They ran him through with spears. I couldn’t save him, but they didn’t see me. You’ll need to get someone else to take Thed’s spot.”

“That’s a shame,” said the Gentleman with a frown. “He was almost fully trained. I’m loathe to waste any more of your time down there. Did you finish your route?”

“Yes,” said Cree. “That was the only hitch.”

“Alright.” The Gentleman nodded to himself. “You’re dismissed, Cree. I’ll think on what to do, and we can discuss it in the morning.”

Cree nodded. “I will see you then,” she lied smoothly, and backed away from his table.

Lucien wasn’t hard to spot. He was lounging at a table with Yasha, Beauregard, and the Sapphire, and appeared to be very drunk. It was unlike him. Cree shook her head sharply, dismissing the thought. If being buried alive and abandoned by his friends had left him with a desire to overindulge, she wouldn’t hold that against him. That allowance didn’t even begin to make up for her betrayal of him, for her loss of faith. By the end of tonight, though, she was sure she would be well on her way to his forgiveness.

Cree approached his table. “Lucien,” she said, her voice sounding, feeble and hesitant even to her own ear. She stiffened her spine, mentally cursing her own weakness.

Lucien looked up at her and smiled lazily. “Cree, how are you?” he said. The accent he had chosen to affect here still sounded wrong to her. She wouldn’t have to put up with it much longer, though – he always changed it when they moved their base of operations.

“I am well,” she said. “Lucien, can I speak to you in private for a moment?”

“Now’s not really a good time, Cree,” he said. “Perhaps over breakfast tomorrow?”

“Want to join us?” Beau asked, her words deliberate but noticeably slurred. “We were playing Never Have I Ever, and I need to fact-check some of Molly’s stories.”

“There are no lies Lucien could tell that would be more outlandish than the life he has lived,” Cree said fondly. “Take him at his word.” She turned back to him. “Lucien, please.”

Lucien looked at her appraisingly. “Alright,” he said. He turned to the table. “Be back in a bit.”

Cree led him up the stairs to her room. Lucien closed the door behind him and turned towards her, his eyes roaming over the bare walls and tidy, sparse accoutrements. She waited for him to comment, but instead he looked at her and asked, “What’s on your mind?”

“Lucien,” Cree said, willing her voice not to thicken. He would not appreciate her tears. “We have not had a good opportunity to speak since you came back. There are so many things I want to ask you, want to tell you. But they can all wait. What I have to tell you now is the most important thing.”

“You have my interest,” Lucien said softly.

Cree swallowed hard. “I have the resources to reform the Tomb Takers.”

She waited for his response, for him to ask how, to ask where, to give any reaction at all. Instead he stared at her impassively, apparently waiting for her to continue. So she did.

“I know where most of us went after we… buried you,” she said. “I know how we can find them, how we can convince them to rejoin us, and I have something we can use to secure a new patron. We can leave tonight. Scrape the imperial stink of this city off of our boots and vanish. Everything can be just as it was, Lucien. We can fix everything.”

It took Lucien so long to respond that Cree was beginning to wonder if something was wrong with him. But he did respond eventually, and each word hit Cree like a stone. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to gather the others yet, Cree. It’s been some time; we don’t know who we can still rely on.”

“Then we’ll go alone!” Cree said desperately. “We were always the best of them; fewer people means more spoils for us!”

Lucien shook his head. “I want to build back up a base of power first. This is a good enough place to start. If you want to go ahead without me, feel free. I can always catch up later.”

“Lucien-“ Cree began to plead, but he cut her off.

“Goodnight Cree,” he said, as impassive as ever. He left the room.

Cree collapsed onto her bed, stunned. What had happened to Lucien? How was it that the man she loved most in the world was miraculously returned to her, only for him to seem a total stranger? What had she done to deserve such a fate?

She unslung her packs. Numb fingers undid the ties on the lead-lined bag the Gentleman sometimes employed to move sensitive items from place to place without being magically detected. The mouth of the bag fell open, revealing the item that Cree had been so sure would open all the doors she and Lucien would ever need, the item Jesse’s light fingers had lifted from right under the Righteous Brand’s nose, the item that she had ripped Jesse’s throat open to claim for herself.

The grey surface of the dodecahedron pulsed dully, and as Cree stared blankly at it, she felt a tug on her very being. The glow intensified, drawing her deeper into it, eclipsing her senses as it pulled her into a strange world unlike any she had ever dreamed of, a world full of endless, unimagined possibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That brings us to the end of the first act! Thanks so much to everyone who has stuck with me this far. With the status and relationships of the main characters established and set up, next chapter will be the beginning of some new, exciting developments. It may be a little bit later than usual - I want to give the fic a bit of a facelift, so I'll be taking some time to mess with things like the fic summary and chapter names. We'll just have to see.  
> As always, if you enjoyed this chapter, please consider leaving a comment. They really are the most satisfying and rewarding form of engagement available, and I super appreciate them. I've read every comment left to me many times. If any of you have questions or comments about the choices I've made in the story so far, or about why I've chosen to write certain characters in certain ways, drop me a line over at thevalleyarchive.tumblr.com. Thanks!


	11. Operation of the Machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Early Update!  
> Content Warning: This chapter, as well as the next several chapters, will include many references to slavery and human trafficking. I've updated the tags accordingly.

A breeze blew through the streets of Zadash, carrying with it the crisp coolness of encroaching autumn. Beau closed her eyes and tilted her head back, enjoying the sensation as the wind raked its fingers through her hair and rustled her clothes. Soon the warmth of summer would flee entirely, and with its departure the plants would wither and the leaves would fall, and perhaps Zadash would be blanketed in snow – Beau didn’t know whether they were far enough north for that. With the long days of summer behind her, she was sure she would come to hate and curse the winds. But for now, Beau was happy. She straightened her vest and continued down the road towards the Valley Archive of the Cobalt Soul.

She couldn’t tell if the emotion she experienced as she paused to take in the enormous, beautiful doors of the library was nostalgia or simple déjà vu. The last time she had made this approach, it had been to discover that the White Peacock had muscled her out and kidnapped Jester. It was strange, the little segments that her life had been truncated into. It had been split when her father threw her out of his home and then split again when Jester had saved her life in the sewers. In some ways she felt very unlike either of the people she had been before. Weird to think that it had only been three months total.

Maybe it was just that she was happier. Beau had always found life under her father’s roof to be one long stress nightmare, interrupted only occasionally by her escapades with Tori. Now, though, she had a job she was good at, working for a person who valued her. She went home each night to a table full of friends, to Yasha and Molly, and most of all to Jester. And for the less pleasant things, she had whiskey. A few shots in the morning and a few more in the evening could banish a lot of demons. She rarely even had nightmares anymore, and when she did, whiskey helped with them too.

Beau stepped into the archive. Just like she remembered it. She approached the receptionist. “I’ve got a meeting with Zeenoth,” she said with a smile.

The receptionist looked at her with wide eyes as he took in her appearance. Beau looked very different from the last time she was here. Her body had been remade in layers of lean, rippling muscle. Her movements were more fluid, her steps more balanced, and her reflexes were exceptional. She was dressed different, too. The first day that she’d returned to work, Beau had visited Dekkar to commission a new wardrobe. Now she wore loose-fitting black pants and a short, sleeveless brown tunic tied at her waist with a sea green silk scarf. Over the tunic, she wore a tightly fitted vest of the same sea green, lined and edged with a shiny grey. She and Dekkar had carefully designed the new outfit to allow even greater freedom of movement without sacrificing the appearance of wealth.

On one point, Beau had been insistent. “No sleeves,” she had said firmly. Dekkar had cautioned her against it, but since Beau no longer had a dagger to hide, it was really no loss.

Beau made her way to the familiar bench overlooking the atrium. There were no books left out here this time, though she was sure she could find something if she ventured back into the stacks. Another time. Today, she wanted to observe the monks.

She didn’t have to wait long before the atrium filled with them and they set to their training, training that Beau had worked so hard to replicate from memory. As she watched them now, though, she could see what an incomplete memory it had been. Their movements were far quicker, far more precise, far more powerful than hers were. She picked out several individual exercises that she’d been doing wrong and noted several more that had escaped her memory entirely. Some of what she observed she suspected was still beyond her physical capabilities all together.

Beau sighed in disappointment. It had been foolish to hope that she could learn their art on her own in two months. She’d have to rededicate herself. Maybe she could steal Yasha away from Jester tomorrow and get her to go over some of these new techniques with her. Hell, maybe she could bring Yasha here to learn with her from the source.

That would all depend on this meeting going well, though. Beau consciously slowed her breathing, trying to calm her nerves. It would be fine. She had a good handle on the kind of person Zeenoth was, and she’d done plenty of setup these past weeks to get him to agree to meet her again. She could do this, she was sure of it. She was sure.

She didn’t have to wait long - perhaps he was concerned about making a good second impression now that he didn’t have other options. Beau rose from the bench as Archivist Zeenoth approached, looking apprehensive.

“Archivist,” Beau said. “Pleasure to see you again.”

Zeenoth cleared his throat uncertainly. He seemed embarrassed and uncertain as to how to proceed. Beau smiled.

“I’ll make this as simple and painless as possible for you,” she said. “My employer is more than happy to resume our previous arrangement. It was a good deal for both of us. However, some of my coworkers are not eager to resume our business with you.” Beau let the smile melt from her face and arranged her features into a stern, serious expression. “They think going behind our backs like that was a betrayal, and they have a very different idea of what should be done to traitors.”

Zeenoth gulped and looked around wildly, fear in his eyes, Beau raised a hand to calm him before he called for his guards. “Lucky for you,” she said, “I understand that it was just business. So I convinced them not to murder you in your bed, as long as you increase our fee by fifty percent.”

“Fifty percent!?” Zeenoth hissed angrily. “That’s highway robbery! It’s simply unreasonable! I did not let you in here to waste more of my time! You may leave right now – I’ll take my business elsewhere!”

“Uh huh. To whom will you take your business, exactly?” Beau asked, feigning boredom. “Look man, we both know you wouldn’t be talking to me if you had any other choice – you’re too proud for that. So why don’t you cut the bluster and shake my hand, and I can tell my friends that nothing else needs to be done?”

Zeenoth looked like he’d swallowed a lemon, and Beau wondered if she’d pushed too hard. But then, slowly, he held out his hand. Beau reached out and shook it, letting a satisfied smile creep onto her face.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she said, reveling in her victory. “Let’s talk business.”

It was another hour before Zeenoth had finished placing his order and they’d established a new procedure for delivering contraband to the monks. Eventually, though, they reached a conclusion, and Beau made her way back to the library entrance. She drew up short, however, when she saw the dark-skinned elf that had interrogated her before. Shit. Beau wondered whether someone had tipped them off about her research, of their presence here was pure coincidence. Their eyes flickered with some emotion briefly when Beau noticed them, but she couldn’t tell what. As they began to approach, Beau felt an urge to flee. Instead, she smiled.

“Hey,” she said. “Long time no see.”

“Indeed,” they answered calmly. “I had been curious about your disappearance, I will admit. I thought perhaps one of your associates had done you in.”

“I thought your business was knowing things,” Beau said. “Couldn’t you find out where I was?”

“Who said you were important enough to look into?” They raised an eyebrow. “You handled Zeenoth expertly.”

“That’s the job,” Beau said with a shrug. “Speaking of, are you here to offer me another one?”

The monk’s lip curled. “I have no need to beg for the help of a petty criminal. It’s none of my concern if you want to waste your potential.”

Anger surged through Beau. “Sorry I’m so fucking hard for you to figure out, Expositor.” Their eyes widened in surprise, and Beau smiled with vindictive glee. “Yeah, that’s right. See, I decided to try my hand at information-gathering, just for fun, and it turns out I’m pretty fucking good at it. It also turns out that there are a lot of people who really hate you, by the way - you’ve stepped on a lot of toes. I didn’t even have to bribe anyone to get your name, Dairon.”

After their initial surprise, Dairon had smoothed their face into an impassive mask. Still, the look they gave Beau made her feel like a bug about to be squashed, and she became very aware of exactly how much power lay coiled in the elf’s slender body.

“And what, exactly,” Dairon asked in a threatening whisper, “did you expect me to do once you revealed yourself to be a security risk, Beauregard?”

All the satisfaction drained out of Beau as she realized exactly how much danger she’d just placed herself in. Her mouth moved soundlessly as she desperately grasped for anything that might save her. She wished briefly that she was sober – at the moment, the comforting blanket of intoxication she’d wrapped herself in felt more like a straitjacket.

Unable to come up with anything, Beau closed her mouth and shifted into a defensive stance, bracing herself to fend off the attack she was sure was coming. Dairon laughed, a short, scornful bark.

“If I wanted you dead, there would be nothing you could do to stop me,” they said, and then surged forward in a flurry of movement. Beau’s arms shifted into a block as she bent at the waist to absorb the force, and Dairon’s fist deflected off of her forearm. She ducked beneath a knife hand aimed at her neck and hopped over a leg sweep. She chambered her own fist and unleashed a straight right punch, planting her feet and twisting at the hips to lend it force. She felt it clip Dairon’s shoulder hard enough to bruise, and she felt a moment of elation at the contact. She withdrew the fist, preparing to twist to the left and drive an elbow into Dairon’s ribs –

Beau’s vision went black as a force like a horse kick slammed into her temple. The inside of her skull felt like a drum, its beats radiating out through her whole body in waves that each seemed to rattle her to her very core. Her legs gave out as the vibrations reached her stomach, and she doubled over on herself and vomited onto the floor of the library. Beau was dimly aware of falling to her side as her vision slowly returned, and she realized dimly that Dairon had headbutted her. She felt something hard press into the side of her face, and with difficulty she turned her gaze up. Dairon stood over her like a monolithic angel, their foot pushing her head into the floor, staring down at her pitilessly. Beau gritted her teeth and braced herself for the pain.

To her surprise, Dairon removed their foot. “Get up, Beauregard.”

Beau did her best to comply. Her head pounded horribly, each pulse sending a wave of dizziness and nausea through her. Eventually, she fought her way back to her feet and stared at Dairon, not even bothering to hide her surprise, and waited to see why she was being allowed to live.

Dairon did not explain. Instead, they stared at her for a moment before saying, “Explain something to me. You have all the skills my profession requires – you are fearless, perceptive, investigative. You have even learned something of our fighting style just by watching from the sidelines. You know of our organization – I assume you also know that we do not belong to the imperial establishment. We offer legitimacy, a degree of safety, a chance at a future beyond a prison cell or an executioner’s block. What does being a foot soldier for the Gentleman offer you that we do not?”

So they had been looking into her. Beau wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and swallowed, trying to clear the taste of blood and bile from her mouth. “Guess you can’t know everything, Expositor,” she said. “You’ll just have to accept that I have my reasons.”

* * *

Her father might favor a desk, but Jester did her best work on the move. She strode through her basement headquarters beneath the refurbished and newly renamed _Panz’s Paints_ , the buzz of activity swirling around her like an intricately choreographed ballet that was two missteps from complete collapse. Yasha walked to her left, eyes scanning the crowd for potential threats. Jester had told her she could relax – she didn’t expect to be attacked by any of her own people, but the trappings of authority, like a bodyguard, helped other people believe that you actually had it – but Yasha had insisted firmly that she was not going to half-ass her job. To her right walked Kara, balancing a precarious stack of ledgers and reports that she was doing her best to read to Jester over the general hubbub.

“-and it looks here like the team of thieves you’ve been trying out is beginning to actually pull enough profit to justify their existence,” said Kara as she finished summarizing one of the reports. “The numbers on your cutpurses are actually up since Kyle was arrested. I told you he was a liability.”

“Everyone deserves a chance, Kara,” Jester said distractedly. “Too bad he fucked it up.” Her mind was racing with excitement as the implications of the figures she’d been reviewing slowly became clear. “Find me that report from my dad on how well his people are liquidating the goods we send him.”

As Kara shuffled through papers, Jester paused next to a young halfling who was feverishly painting, glancing periodically at the original that they had acquired the week before to check the accuracy of his reproduction. Jester nodded her approval. “That’s a super good forgery, Stefane,” she said with a smile. “Will it be ready by our deadline?”

“Yes ma’am,” Stephane said, his voice slightly strained and his eyebrows furrowed as he focused intensely on his current stroke.

“Good! You know, I bet one day we’ll be paying someone to make forgeries of your pieces!” Jester gave him an encouraging smile and moved on, continuing her circuit.

“Found it!” Kara exclaimed, spreading out a wrinkled sheet on the top of her stack. “It looks like the products from our smugglers, counterfeiters, and thieves are all being sold at about 97% of the ideal rate. However, the profit we’re turning is sitting at 112% of the ideal rate!” Kara tapped the page excitedly. “It looks like a lot of that is down to Mollymauk, actually. His fake herbals and potions are going for an incredibly high margin at an incredibly high speed.”

“I’ll see if the Gentleman wants to expand that effort, then!” Jester said. “I bet Molly could move even more product if he had a couple of apprentices.”

She finished the calculations in her head, and a beatific smile spread across her face as excitement and delight filled her whole body. She felt like bursting into song, or like she could take flight. Their profit margins were now exceeding the ones pulled by Abel – and she’d done it without touching the slave trade! She’d won! Her dad had been so hesitant about her diversification plans, so worried that they wouldn’t be able to make enough money to justify the risk of dabbling in new kinds of crime, but she’d done it!

Jester turned to face the room. “Okay everyone!” she yelled over the hubbub, “Good job today! Finish up whatever you’re doing and pack it in! I’m buying you all a round at the Evening Nip!”

A roar of enthusiasm rose from the crowd, and Jester turned to Yasha. “Let’s go!” she said excitedly, and she heard Yasha murmur a goodbye to Kara as Jester skipped towards the sewer entrance.

It was a route Jester knew like the back of her hand by now. Her headquarters weren't set up as a living space, so she and all her people made the trek between it and the Evening Nip twice each day. She’d considered clearing out the cage room and putting in some bunk beds, but her dad had insisted that they keep the cages until they were sure they wouldn’t need them. She’d probably start redecorating tomorrow.

Still, Jester thought she would prefer to keep returning to the Nip in the evenings. It had been her home for years now, and she was very fond of the place. Besides, that was where her friends lived – the idea of separating from Beau and Molly was ridiculous. Her dad liked to keep all of his sellers under one roof, so them moving to Panz’s Paints flatly wasn’t an option.

“What did you think of today Yasha?” she asked as they approached their destination.

“Well, I think Molly would like having people to work with again,” Yasha responded. “I think he prefers having other people to lean on a bit.”

“He has us!” Jester insisted. “He can lean on us!”

“But we’re only around in the evenings,” said Yasha. “In the circus, we were basically all around each other all the time. It was… nice, you know? Nice to have people that mostly had your back all the time. I don’t know if Molly’s gotten used to not having that.”

“Well, I’ll definitely push hard for that with my dad then,” Jester said as they arrived at the entrance to the Evening Nip and climbed up.

The tavern was just beginning to fill, members of the Troupe returning from a hard day’s work hungry and thirsty. Yasha peeled off to grab a table as Jester scanned the room for the Gentleman. He was not sitting behind his usual desk, nor was he at the bar. Glancing up, she saw Sorah standing guard outside his office door. That was unusual – he almost always invited Sorah inside.

Nevertheless, Jester hurried up the stairs towards her dad’s office, taking the steps two at a time in her hurry to give him the good news. As she made to open the door, though, Sorah stepped in front of her, blocking access. “The Gentleman is in a meeting,” she said in her surprisingly high, strangely rumbly voice. “He is not to be disturbed.”

“Okay, sure, but it’s me, Sorah,” Jester said impatiently. “C’mon, I’ve got some really good news to tell him!”

“No one else is allowed in until his meeting is over, Sapphire,” Sorah said. “That includes you – your father was very explicit. Do not test him on this.”

Jester started casting around for another approach, something to say or some distraction to make, when the door swung open behind Sorah and three people in dark clothing filed out. Jester briefly made eye contact with the one in the back. He was human, older, with sun weathered skin and hair the color of ash. His eyes were a brilliant shade of green that would look beautiful on anyone else, but on him burned like a wildfire that would consume any who looked too deep. Jester recoiled from his gaze, and she was grateful that he did not linger, following his companions down the stairs and out of the tavern.

Before Sorah could react, Jester slipped past her and through the still-open door. Her father sat behind his desk, staring blankly into space. His face was ashen, his expression haggard. Jester had never seen him look so broken down, and the sight brought her up short. She felt Sorah’s powerful hand tighten on her shoulder. “Hey Dad!” she called to him before Sorah could throw her out. “I have some really good news!”

The Gentleman looked at her, his eyes sad. “Give us the room, Sorah,” he said softly, his voice devoid of any of its usual affectations.

Sorah released Jester and left, closing the door behind her. The Gentleman gestured towards a chair. “Sit down, please.”

“That must’ve been a really bad meeting,” Jester said, a little nonplussed. She sat down. Her dad was looking at her like someone had died. Or, well, like someone they cared about had died? Jester’s eyes widened in alarm. “Is it Beau? Did something bad happen to her again?”

The Gentleman shook his head. “No, Jester.” He laid a letter he was holding out on the table. “We’ve received an… offer, from the Jagentoth’s. Since we have so effectively taken over the White Peacock’s old operation, they want us to start selling their slaves for them here in the city.”

“Well tell them to go fuck themselves, because I did it, Dad!” Jester hopped to her feet in elation and excitement, thrusting her ledger at him. “My new enterprises are making us more money than the slave trade! Let’s go catch up to them before they leave and tell them to piss off!”

“Those weren’t Jagentoths, Jester. They were Myriad.”

Jester looked back at her father, confused. “Why were your bosses carrying a letter from the Jagentoths?”

“Because they’re ordering us to take the contract,” said the Gentleman.

“What? No!” said Jester. She tapped the ledger vigorously. “We’re making even more money without touching the slave trade Dad! It’s all here, it’s all right here, just like I said it would be!”

“There’s no reason we can’t run your diversified enterprises and sell slaves at the same time, Jester,” the Gentleman said softly. “As far as the Myriad is concerned, we’re leaving money on the table by not participating. The only way I got out of it in the first place was by telling them that the Crownsguard here were too hard on the slave trade for it to be worth the trouble. It took me months to cook the books. I had to set up three of our own people to get caught! But now they know that the White Peacock was running slaves, and the authorities never had any idea. This offer from the Jagentoths, which gives us a new supplier for all sorts of goods and finally replaces the Mardoons, was the final nail in the coffin.” Her father looked at her, his face full of sadness. “This is happening, my Sapphire. I’m so sorry.”

Jester shook her head hard, trying to block out his words. “It doesn’t have to!” she insisted. “You are the leader of the Myriad here! The Troupe take their orders from you, not some asshole in Port Damali or Deastock or whatever! Just refuse to do it! They’re not going to start a war with you over it – it’s not worth the attention it would bring them, and they’d have to destroy our entire operation here. That would be way too costly for them.”

“Jester, they certainly have agents among our Troupe, people loyal to them here to keep an eye on us,” her dad said, beginning to sound frustrated. “You know this! I’ve told you this before so that you wouldn’t be blind to the dangers and realities of our profession! If we go against the rest of the Myriad, they will kill me. They will kill you. They will kill everyone they think might be loyal to us, and that will certainly include Sorah, Cree, Beauregard, Mollymauk, and Yasha, assuming that none of them are spies themselves. Then they will put someone new in charge, and the slave trade will flow on regardless!”

“So what, all of my work was for nothing?” Jester shouted, tears welling in her eyes. “I did everything you asked me and more! I came up with a plan, I made it work, I made my cell run better than you ever thought I could – better than you could have! I made it more profitable than slavery, Dad! You promised that that would be enough!”

“I’m sorry that this is so upsetting for you, Jester,” the Gentleman said, his voice returning to its usual detached tone of unconcerned lightness. The shift struck Jester like a slap in the face. “I won’t make you oversee this. You and Yasha will be reassigned here, and I’ll give you and your friends a few days off. Perhaps you can go to that bookshop you like or order a cake from the Meal Hearth. Perhaps I could arrange a visit to the Shuttered Candle for you.” The Gentleman regarded her with hard, impassive eyes. “It is past time you put your childish fantasies behind you.”

Jester’s chin began to tremble, and she bit back a sob rising in her throat. Tears began to spill from her eyes and run down her cheeks. With all the self-control and resolve she could muster, she forced words shakily from her lips. “Dad. Please don’t do this. Please.”

There was no pity in the Gentleman’s eyes. “Go to your room and compose yourself, Sapphire. I need to begin preparations to receive our first shipment, and I need to see if any of our old buyers are interested in our new merchandise.” He bent his head over his desk and began pulling out papers, dismissing her. Tears blurring her vision, Jester turned and fled the room.

* * *

“Are you sure she’s doing okay?” Beau asked for the third time, glancing up towards the door to Jester’s room for the umpteenth time.

“No, Beau, I’m not sure,” Yasha answered, beginning to sound a little bit aggravated. “All I saw was her run out of the Gentleman’s office crying and lock herself in her room. She didn’t look physically injured, and when I knocked, she told me to leave her alone. That’s it.”

“Really it’s a miracle that we haven’t witnessed something like this before,” said Molly, leaning back in his chair. “We all know what kind of man our boss is, and what kind of person she is. They were bound to clash over something eventually.”

“And you’re sure you haven’t heard of anything that you think this might be about?” Beau asked him again. She knew she wasn’t helping anything and was probably going to drive her friends away if she kept pestering them, but she couldn’t seem to stop picking at the subject like a scab.

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” Molly said. He yawned, long and large, his whole body stretching as he did so. He stood up. “Well, as fun as this has been, I still have to get up on time tomorrow, so I’m going to bed.”

“C’mon, man,” Beau protested. “What if she needs us?”

“It’s past midnight, Beau. If she was going to come down for dinner or something, she would’ve done it.” Molly gave them a wave. “Have fun sitting here, though.” He vanished up the stairs.

Yasha stood as well. She put a comforting hand on Beau’s shoulder. “If she doesn’t come out for breakfast, I’ll break down her door,” she promised before following Molly.

Beau sat alone at their table, staring at the grain in the stained and somewhat grimy wood. She raised her glass to her lips to take a drink, only to find it empty. She reached for the bottle of whiskey they’d been sharing to pour herself another, only to find it empty as well. She supposed she could head up to her bedroom too, admit defeat, and have a nightcap.

The thought seemed sour to her. Jester had stayed by her for three days while she recovered from the phase spider. The thought of abandoning her vigil after only a few hours seemed like a betrayal. But maybe that was just the liquor talking.

In any case, Beau decided that she needed to check on Jester. She made her way up the stairs to the door to Jester’s room. A symbol of the Traveler was carved into it at eye-level. Beau knocked hard on the door twice. “Jester? It’s Beau. Can I come in?”

Beau expected to have to knock again, but Jester’s response came immediately, her voice sounding surprised and a little shaky. “Oh hi Beau! It’s, um, not a good time! I’m, um, naked!”

“That doesn’t bother me in the slightest, but if it bothers you, then get dressed. I want to make sure you’re doing okay.”

“Oh, I’m fine!” Jester responded. Even as drunk as she was, Beau didn’t believe her for a minute. “Why don’t you go to bed and we can talk about it in the morning?”

“Jester, please. I can’t wait out here stewing, wondering if you’re hurt or something. Please let me in.”

No response came. Beau sighed and leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the door. That was stupid of her. She shouldn’t have pushed.

She felt a click run through the door, and then Beau had to quickly regain her balance as it opened slightly, Jester appearing in the crack. She was not, in fact, naked, and didn’t look injured or even particularly upset. She smiled at Beau. “I’m fine, Beau,” she said sweetly. “See?”

Beau saw her. Then Beau furrowed her brows as she realized that Jester was still dressed in her day clothes, including her heavy cloak and boots. Jester was doing her best to block any view into her room, but Beau was taller than her, and, craning her neck, she could just barely see past her. Beau's eyes widened and, with a shove, she forced the door the rest of the way open and stepped into the room.

If Jester had been prepared for it, Beau knew she wouldn’t have been able to get the door open – Jester was insanely strong, especially for how little of her muscle was visible. But Jester was not prepared, and so Beau stood now in her room, staring at the pack on the floor from which Jester’s clothes were overflowing, along with a decent portion of dried rations and a few water skins.

“Beau!” Jester exclaimed angrily. “I didn’t tell you you could come in!”

“Where are you going, Jester?” Beau asked numbly. “Why are you going?”

She looked at Jester when no answer came immediately and was surprised to see angry tears sparkling in Jester’s eyes. Jester took a few deep breaths and blinked quickly, clearing any trace of strain from her face. When she spoke, it was quiet and direct, with as much emotion purged from it as possible.

“Five years ago, my dad was a slaver,” Jester said. “I convinced him to stop. Everything was fine for a while, but a bit before you joined up we were cut off from one of our main suppliers – the Mardoons from Shady Creek Run. Since then, he’s been under a lot of pressure from the rest of the Myriad to get back into slaving to make up the lost profit. I thought taking over the White Peacock operation would be enough, but it didn’t matter. The Jagentoths want him to sell slaves for them, and he’s going to do it. So I’m going to Shady Creek Run. I’m going to reestablish contact with the Mardoons and kill the Jagentoths, and then I’m going to come home, and everything will be okay again.”

Her voice broke slightly at the end.

Beau looked at her incredulously. “That’s a lot to unpack,” she said, “but I’m gonna put most of it aside for a bit.” She took a deep breath. Jester’s eyes were teary again. “Let me get this straight,” Beau said, “you’re going to go to Shady Creek Run – like, warring families, literally no laws, Shady Creek Run – tonight, with only the supplies you scrounged from your room, without telling the Gentleman, to sabotage a deal he’s already made?”

Jester smiled shakily. “That about covers it!” she said with a fragile sort of cheeriness.

Beau shook her head in disbelief, smiling. “Just as long as we’re on the same page. I’ll go get my things.”

“Wait, no!” Jester protested. “You’re not coming with me!”

“Of course I am,” Beau said, still smiling.

“Beau, you’re not his daughter,” Jester said earnestly. “He will kill you for deserting. No one will ever find your body.”

“Actually, I think he’ll probably thank me for keeping you safe,” Beau answered flippantly. “Can you imagine what he’d do to me if I let you go alone?”

“I’m not going alone!” Jester said indignantly. “I’ll have the Traveler with me!”

“Well, I bet the Traveler doesn’t know half as much as I do about where you’re going,” Beau said. “I read a couple of pretty intense books at the Cobalt Soul about Shady Creek Run – I bet I’ll be pretty helpful for actually figuring out how to get anything done there.”

“Beau, please,” Jester pleaded. “You almost died because of me! Don’t follow me into danger again. I don’t want you to die for real this time.”

“It was my choice to follow you into the sewer, Jester, and I don’t regret it. Just like it’s your choice to go to Shady Creek now. Just like it’s my choice to go with you.”

“Beau,” Jester said softly, her voice shaking. She paused for a moment, hesitating, struggling to say whatever it was she was trying to get out. She gulped, swallowed, and said slowly, “Beau, you’re drunk. You make bad decisions when you’re drunk. Friends shouldn’t let friends make bad decisions when they’re drunk.”

Beau smiled softly, a strange melancholy filling her. “I’ve been drunk for months, Jester,” she said. “My mistakes aren’t your burden to bear, and this isn’t one of them.”

She turned to leave. “I’ll meet you downstairs in five,” Beau called over her shoulder, “I travel light.”

She exited the room, rounded the corner purposefully, and almost crashed directly into Molly and Yasha as they crouched just out of sight of the door, clearly listening intently. They were all quiet for a moment, staring at each other. Then Molly extended his arms into a wide, comically exaggerated shrug. “Oops?” he offered.

Beau shook her head, laughing to herself. “You eavesdropping fuckers,” she said. Yasha had the good grace to look embarrassed. “You heard everything?”

Yasha nodded. “We’re coming with you,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Molly nodded as well. “Where Yasha goes, I go.”

“Right,” Beau said. “Get your stuff and meet in the tavern. You’ve got five minutes – I think the Sapphire will leave without us if we’re not ready.”

“Molly can get my pack,” Yasha said, “I’ll make sure she waits for us.” She pushed past Beau into Jester’s room.

Beau nodded to Molly and hurried to her room. She began shoving clothes into her pack – she didn’t really have much else. Jester had a few rations, but they’d have to secure more on the way out of town or on the road. Horses too, for that matter – Shady Creek Run was very far away. She moved to her dresser, reaching out to grab her whiskey bottle. Her hand closed around its neck, but she hesitated.

Beau remembered her encounter with Dairon earlier that day, how they’d gotten the better of her both verbally and in combat. She remembered her bender months ago that had ended in that jail cell. Most of all, she remembered the look on Jester’s face as she’d pleaded with her, how she’d taken responsibility for Beau’s near-death onto herself.

Beau stiffened her spine. She would not let her actions bring Jester more pain. If she was going to do this, she needed every resource at her disposal, and that included her wits. Before she had time to second guess herself, Beau let go of the bottle and knelt, reaching under the dresser and groping around in the dust until her hand grasped something hard, wrapped in soft, well-worn leather.

She stood back up, Thed’s dagger grasped tightly in her white-knuckled fist. Dairon had proved that Beau wasn’t ready to defend herself without help, and that wasn’t a lesson she could afford to ignore. She no longer had sleeves, so she couldn’t carry it as her friend had taught her. Instead, she slid it into her right boot, then shouldered her makeshift pack and returned to the front room.

Her friends were waiting for her, all carrying similar packs. Jester’s was by far the largest, and probably the best organized, but Yasha shouldered her rucksack with the look of someone used to its weight. Beau wondered if she’d had it ready to go for just such an eventuality.

Jester nodded to her nervously as she joined them. “Are you ready?” she asked Beau.

Beau nodded back.

Jester took a long look around the room, as if taking it in for the last time. Her eyes came to rest on each of them, and Beau found herself blushing and looking away as Jester said, with an aching sincerity, “Thank you all so much for coming with me. I know how much you are risking for me, and I’ll try really hard not to get you all killed.”

Molly smiled, wide and wicked. “What would be the fun without a little bit of danger? Lead on, Sapphire.”

Jester started to walk towards the exit stairs, then stopped and turned back to the group. “You know, the aliases were my dad’s idea," she mused. "He thought it was important for us to separate ourselves from who we really were, to keep us safe. But he’s wrong. You’re my best friends, and I trust you, and it is really, really lonely living under a mask." She straightened her back and squared her shoulders. "My name is Jester. Call me that.”

They all nodded, and Beau felt a strange feeling in her chest, like her heart was swelling. It vanished when Molly gave her a disgustingly smug look. Beau rolled her eyes in response and flipped him off.

Jester turned and marched up the stairs, and they followed her out into the slumbering false tavern above, onto the dark, quiet streets of Zadash, and beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all knew they couldn't stay in Zadash forever.  
> As you may have noticed, this fic's chapters now have titles! I'd still like to redo the fic summary and come up with a better name, but nothing I've drafted has spoken to me yet. I'll keep you all posted. As ever, comments are the greatest gift I could ask for.


	12. Fireworks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise bonus update this week because I've been super excited to get to this one. Hope you all like it!  
> Content Warning: Recreational drug use

Jester swore loudly as the cart hit a bump in the road, knocking her hand astray and ruining the drawing of Beau she’d been working on for the past two hours. At the jolt and the sound, Beau jerked awake, pushing away from the corner of the cart where she had been huddled.

“Wha's goin’ on?” she asked blearily.

“Just a bump in the road Beau, go back to sleep,” Jester said, frustration still coloring her voice as she stared down at the massive splotch of ink where Beau’s face had nearly finished taking shape.

Beau did not go back to sleep, though, instead rubbing her eyes and turning around to lean over towards the seat at the front of the cart, where Molly was currently seated, driving their horses onward. “How’s the road been?” she asked. “Are we going to make it tonight?”

“Barring that little dent, it’s been smooth sailing,” Molly said. “We should be in Hupperdook by sundown.”

Jester snickered. “Hupperdook,” she whispered delightedly. If there was a better name for a city, she couldn’t even begin to imagine it.

Beau smiled. “Cool, I’ll spell you for a bit. I’m sure you could use a break.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Molly said. “You just woke up – drowsy driving kills, you know.”

“Fine, whatever. Just trying to be nice and shit.”

As Beau settled back into the cart and started trying to rub the sleep out of her eyes, Jester looked back at her ruined painting and felt the disappointment wash over her anew. It would have been a really good one. Beau looked so serene while she slept, and she was usually far too alert during the day for Jester to paint her. She could ask her to pose, she supposed, but Jester didn't think Beau would be willing or able to model what she wanted to capture. There was a softness and vulnerability to Beau's sleeping expression that was never present while she was awake. When she was awake, her fire burned too brightly for her vulnerability to show through.

Jester had been disappointed to discover that sobriety hadn’t shifted Beau’s demeanor much, if at all. It wasn’t any particular thing about Beau’s behavior or anything that had Jester on edge – there was just a feeling she got sometimes, when she was around a drunk person, that they were on the verge of doing something that they would regret. It was a feeling that Beau had been giving her off and on ever since she had recovered from her injury in the sewers. Normally, Jester didn’t mind this feeling at all – people making asses of themselves was often pretty funny. But Jester knew enough of Beau to know that her impulses tended to run more dangerous, even verging on self-destructive. She’d been bracing for some sort of blow-up for a long time, but there hadn’t really been one since Beau had gotten herself arrested.

Jester had thought that she would stop feeling that particular tug of intuition now that Beau was off of booze, but no luck. Maybe Beau had just always had that air about her – Jester had to admit that she hadn’t known Beau that well during the first month of her employment. She hadn’t noticed anything of the sort back then; Beau had been guarded and a bit touchy, sure, but she hadn’t had the sort of disconnected recklessness that Jester thought she saw in her now.

Then again, maybe Jester wasn’t as good at reading people as she’d thought. Her mind turned, unwillingly, towards her dad. He knew that what he was doing was wrong, she had to believe that. He just didn’t see another way, and he wouldn’t have let Jester try this plan if she’d asked because he didn’t think she was up to it. But she would succeed, and as soon as she came back with a better option, he would leap at it. He didn’t want to be a slaver; Jester was certain of it. She would find him a better path.

They had made it out of Zadash quickly and cleanly, to Jester’s mild surprise. They’d roused the owner of a livery that owed the Troupe a favor, and not even fifteen minutes later they’d had horses and a cart. The guard had searched it thoroughly when they rolled up to the gate in the dead of night, but Jester had turned on the charm and Beau had invented a very professional-sounding lie, so they hadn’t really had a reason to keep them.

It hadn’t been until the next morning, after they were already fairly far north on the Amber Road, that Jester had felt the unpleasant, skin-crawling sensation that meant Cree was tracking her. She’d warned the rest of them, and over the next few minutes the sensation had washed over each of them in turn. Beau had wanted to double their speed, put as much distance as possible between them and Zadash before the Gentleman could send people to retrieve them, but Jester had dissuaded her. “He can’t spare the people to look for us right now,” she’d asserted. “We all have important jobs that he needs filled immediately, and he also has to prepare to receive and sell a whole bunch of people. He won’t send anyone after us. I bet he’ll have Cree check in on us pretty often, though.”

So far, she seemed to be correct about that. Cree checked in on her at least once a day, anyway. If she was tracking her friends, they’d kept quiet about it.

Their trip had been smooth so far – no bandits or wild animals had tested them yet. Jester had thoroughly enjoyed it, actually; she’d never seen this part of the countryside before, and it was absolutely beautiful. She would’ve liked to explore a little more along the way, but she knew that they only had a limited time to deal with the Jagentoth situation. If their first shipment actually arrived, Jester didn’t think she’d be able to shut them down. Still, she’d wandered off on her own a few times while the others were breaking camp in the morning, enjoying the beautiful fall colors. Sometimes Beau would join her. Once, they’d even found a nice little spot where the Eisfus River formed a slow-flowing pool and had taken a short morning swim.

They’d left the river behind some time ago, though, crossing it just below the Ounterloch and striking east to meet up with the Gravelway Path, which they would follow through Hupperdook until it met the Glory Run Road. Her morning excursions had gotten rarer since then, as the grinding routine of the trip had her cherishing every moment of sleep in the morning. Jester still got to chat with Beau plenty during the day, of course, but she missed the quiet moments with just the two of them. They mounted a night watch, of course, but Beau always wanted to keep watch with Molly. Not that Yasha was bad company – Jester really liked taking watch with her! It just would’ve been nice to do it with Beau sometimes. Or with Molly.

“I think I see it!” Yasha called out excitedly. Jester craned her neck to look. A little ways in the distance, a tiered city rose, smoke rising from the stacks of its factories and workshops.

“Huh,” Jester said, feeling slightly disappointed. “You know, I was kind of hoping for a bunch of little mushroom houses or something.”

“We could probably get you seeing that, if you like,” Beau said. “I’ve heard they have some wild parties here.”

“This place could be a total bore, you know,” Molly said unhelpfully. “You know how rumors are in small towns. People like to make things up to help them imagine a better life.”

“Hey, my sources were, like, sixty percent reliable!” Beau shot back playfully. “I was an independent fence before I worked for the Gentleman, y’know. I did interact with people from other places.”

“Well, if they do have stuff here that’ll take you to a mushroom village, I want some of it!” Molly declared. “Beau, you can come too – I could use a tour guide.”

Beau laughed. “Sure, man. I could use a vacation.”

“Well, you both have to explore the actual city with me first, okay?” Jester said. “There’s got to be something worth seeing here.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t abandon you,” Beau promised, touching her arm lightly.

Jester kept her eyes fixed on the slowly approaching city, facing forward so Beau couldn’t see her cheeks turn pink.

* * *

They had only just passed the gates when the klaxon sounded, and the streets filled with more celebrating people than Beau had ever before seen in one place. The merriment was intoxicating, and Beau drank it in deeply, even as the crowd slowed their passage and she had to yell to be heard. They needed to find an inn, but Beau kept getting distracted by the countless fascinating sights and sounds all around them. When the first fireworks went off in the sky above them, she nearly fell out of the cart in shock. Jester caught her by the wrist and pulled her back in, even as she stared up in awe at the bursts of glittering, jewel-like sparks in the sky above. Beau could see the shimmering golds and reds shining bright, reflecting off of Jester’s deep violet eyes.

Beau stared for a moment more as Jester revolved in place, her arms spread wide and her face full of pure, wondrous awe and delight. She could hear more fireworks exploding in the sky above them, but Beau couldn’t take her eyes off Jester to look at them.

The cart jerked as Molly pulled up hard to avoid running over a careless child, and the jolt broke Beau from her spell. Feeling embarrassed, she quickly went back to scanning the crowded streets for a tavern. Instead, her eyes caught on a small booth selling flower crowns.

Struck by a sudden impulse, Beau leaned over to Yasha. “I’ll be right back,” she yelled over the deafening cacophony, barely hearing herself.

“What?” Yasha yelled back, but Beau was already leaping down from the cart. The crowd mostly consisted of gnomes, so Beau was able to wade through it without too much trouble. She made her way to the stall, where a little girl and her father were busy twisting fresh flowers into crowns. She bought three, paying double the asking price, then began weaving her way back to their cart.

Yasha was saying something as Beau clambered back aboard. She pointed emphatically towards a building a short distance away. Beau looked it up and down. She couldn’t see the sign from here, but she could recognize a tavern when she saw one, even one as enormous as this. It towered above the nearby buildings, rising some five stories into the sky. With many jolts and false starts and emphatic swearing at the people on the ground to make way, they eventually pulled up alongside it and walked in.

The tavern was packed to bursting, but even so it was quieter than the street.

Molly took one look around the busy but surprisingly clean room. “This’ll do,” he said.

“Where did you run off to Beau?” Jester asked. “If you were sightseeing, you should’ve brought me!”

“You seemed like you were really enjoying the fireworks,” Beau said with a smile, “and I wasn’t sight-seeing. I got you all something.” She held up the flower crowns.

Jester gasped and clapped her hands to her face in delight, Molly smiled approvingly, and Yasha went very still, her expression soft and oddly emotional – she looked overwhelmed.

Beau separated them out, approaching Molly first. “Here you go!” she said as she set the ring of bright yellow and orange poppies on his head. “You need to look the part if you’re going to a mushroom village tonight. Now you look sorta like a, a fey prince or some shit, I dunno.”

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been royalty,” Molly said delightedly. “Thanks Beau.”

Beau nodded, then moved on to Yasha, gesturing for her to crouch a bit so she could place the lilac circlet on her. “You’re too much of a party animal, Yasha!” Beau said, teasing, “so I thought these might calm you down, remind you to reign it in a bit!”

“They’re beautiful,” Yasha said softly. She looked Beau right in the eye and said, very sincerely, “Thank you.”

Beau turned to Jester and held up the last crown, feeling suddenly flustered. “Jester, I, um, didn’t want you to feel left out, so here,” she mumbled, pulling the crown of violets, adorned with a single large white rose blossom, down over Jester’s horns. “Also I thought it would, um, suit you really well or whatever.”

“Aww, thank you Beau,” Jester said, smiling adorably. Then she frowned suddenly. “You didn’t get one for yourself!”

“Oh,” Beau said self-consciously, “I don’t think flowers are really my thing, you know? Besides, they’re like, really delicate, and I don’t handle delicate things very well.”

“That’s not true at all!” Jester insisted. “You kept them perfect all the way through that crowd for us, didn’t you? I bet you would look beautiful in some flowers.”

Beau shrugged and looked down at the floor. “Thanks.”

The silence stretched uncomfortably long after that. To break it, Beau said, “You know what we should do tonight? We should just fuckin’ let loose. Like, we’ve been on the road for awhile, so let’s just unwind. Stay out super late, have a bunch of fun, get fucked up. Sound good?”

“Oh absolutely!” said Molly enthusiastically. “If you hadn’t suggested it, I was going to!” He turned to the group. “Can one of you lock us down a table here and secure some rooms to crash in? I want to go find something fun for me and Beau. And you two as well, if you’re interested.”

Yasha shook her head. “I have enough visions on my own. I can stay here and get us rooms.”

Jester cocked her head, considering. “Well, it would really depend on what you find,” she said. “Maybe I’ll come with you and see if whatever you settle on sounds fun!”

“Well I have absolute faith in your abilities to pick out something good,” Beau said. “I’ll stay here with Yasha, have a few drinks. We should probably use the buddy system tonight anyway.”

“Are you sure, Beau?” Jester asked, sounding concerned. “I mean, I know you haven’t been drinking since we left Zadash. Are you sure you’ll be okay drinking tonight?”

Beau shifted guiltily, ignoring the look Molly shot her. “Yeah, it’ll be totally good!” she insisted. “Just one night to let loose a bit! I’ll be back on the wagon as soon as we’re, well, back on the wagon.”

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Jester said. “Just be careful, okay? Don’t be afraid to ask for help if you need it.”

“I will,” Beau said, feeling guiltier by the second. She was relieved that Jester and Molly made their exit quickly; she wasn’t sure how long she could’ve kept the charade up if Jester had kept pushing.

It wasn’t like she’d meant to start drinking again. She had left her own supply behind deliberately, denying herself any chance of temptation, or so she thought. That first night, though, when Molly offered to take first watch with her, and he poured himself a glass of something called mezcal, she’d been curious. It wasn’t something she’d ever heard of before, and Molly was always teasing her about her limited alcohol palette, and she’d just wanted to expand her horizons a bit. Besides, she’d gone a whole twenty-four hours without drinking for the first time in months, which was a pretty good accomplishment. She had deserved a reward, a break, a pick me up, something to just help her ease off of it. It had been a totally reasonable decision to have a glass with him. Several glasses with him.

But Beau couldn’t even defend to herself the fact that she’d insisted on taking watch with him every night thereafter so she could keep bumming off of his stash without Jester knowing. It's not that she was embarrassed or anything; Jester had just seemed so proud of her when Beau had told her that she was going to sober up to help with the mission on their way out of Zadash. Beau hadn’t wanted to disappoint her.

No point dwelling on any of that tonight, though – this was her chance to unwind. Beau waded through the crowd to the bar and ordered herself a double of some very nice whiskey and a bottle of wine to share with Yasha. She glanced over and saw Yasha desperately trying to get the attention of the tavernkeeper. Judging by the crowd around her and the overwhelmed expression on her face, she’d be awhile. Beau made her way to the one miraculously empty table she could see, way back in the corner, and sat down to enjoy her drink.

Beau wasn’t alone for very long, though. “Mind if I sit here a minute?” a voice asked, high and sweet and playful.

Beau looked up from her drink and froze as her eyes settled on one of the most beautiful people she’d ever seen, leaning casually against the chair to her right. She was gnomish, her skin several shades darker than Beau’s own, her shiny black hair intricately braided with beads and ribbons in pink and gold, cascading over her shoulder. Her eyes were a soft, warm amber, and her face was practically angelic, but her smile had just a trace of wickedness to it that made Beau shiver all over. She wore knee-length skirt and a vest that showed off some impressively muscled arms and shoulders.

It took Beau several moments to regain her composure enough to answer. “Uh, sure, yeah, go ahead!” she finally got out, her voice beginning as a croak before rising uncomfortably high.

“Thanks,” the woman said, her smile deepening as she took a seat. “I love our way of doing things here, but sometimes a girl just wants a moment to sit between a long day of work and a long night of parties.”

“Is it like this all the time?” Beau asked. “I mean, I’d heard rumors, but you know how travelers like to tell big stories.”

“Oh absolutely,” the woman said, “it’s our reward for the hours we work during the day. I’m Cecily, by the way.” She offered Beau her hand.

“Beau,” said Beau, taking Cecily’s had and kissing it. Cecily giggled.

“So, Beau,” she said, “what brings you out to Hupperdook? Just here for the good time?”

“I wish,” Beau said ruefully. “I’ve got a job up north. My friends and I are just passing through. When the street turned into a party, we decided to take a night to celebrate.”

“Oh, are you here with friends?” Cecily asked. “Would you like me to leave you alone? I don’t mean to intrude or anything.”

“You are the most welcome intrusion I’ve had in a long time,” Beau said with a smirk. “Stay. I’d love it if we could get to know each other a little better.”

Cecily returned her smirk. “Glad we’re on the same page, then.” She gave Beau a long, appreciative look. “What’s this job that brought you my way?”

“Nothing very impressive,” Beau said, putting on her best self-effacing grin. “I’m just a merchant.”

“Really?” said Cecily, sounding surprised. “How does a merchant end up with definition like this?” She reached out and ran a hand along Beau’s bicep, giving it a light squeeze.

Beau shivered slightly. “Well,” she said huskily, “I do have hobbies. I like to stay in peak condition for them.”

“What sort of hobbies are those?” Cecily purred.

“I kinda like studying languages, actually,” Beau said. She saw Cecily’s eyebrows draw together in confusion, so she smiled and leaned in closer. “They call me a cunning linguist.”

Cecily let out a loud laugh, throwing her head back and swatting Beau lightly in mock scandalization. “Oh, I bet you are Beau,” she said merrily. “You certainly look the part.” Cecily leaned in closer. “I’ve never been any good at languages myself,” she whispered. “Maybe you could come upstairs and give me some lessons?”

“It’d be my pleasure,” Beau whispered back delightedly. “I’m a pretty hands-on teacher.”

“Good; I’m a handful.” Cecily winked and kissed Beau on the cheek, then stood up. “They rent rooms short-term here,” she said. “I’ll go get us one. Think an hour will be enough?”

“I mean, if that’s all you want,” Beau said with a hint of derision. “But if you want to see my A-game, we’ll really need at least two.”

“For a handsome traveler just passing through, I can spare two hours,” Cecily said. “I do need to be able to walk after, though. I’ve got plans for the night.”

“No promises,” Beau said. “I do need to find my friends first, let them know not to worry about me.”

“Fair enough,” said Cecily. “I’ll get it for two and a half hours, and you can come up once you’ve checked in with your friends.” She leaned in close. “I can definitely get started by myself,” she said.

Beau started to form a clever response, but Cecily had already turned away and vanished into the crowd. Beau stared after her, a feeling of intense anticipation building in her. Now if Yasha would just get back.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Yasha emerged from the crowd looking harried. Her flower crown was slightly askew. She dropped into the seat next to Beau with a thunk, letting out a sigh as she did.

“Two rooms,” she said tiredly, “both on the top floor. I’ve never been to a tavern with a bunch of floors before – this place must be popular.”

“I bet,” Beau said distractedly. “Yasha, I –“

“You got us wine!” Yasha exclaimed, cutting her off. She started pouring herself a glass. “It’s just so warm in here, and I realized on the way over here that I’d forgotten to get myself anything, and I was not looking forward to having to get back to that bar. Thank you, Beau!”

“Don’t mention it,” Beau said. “Look, I’m gonna head upstairs for a couple hours. Can you tell Molly and Jester when they get back so that they’re not worried about me?”

“Of course,” said Yasha, looking confused, “but why? I thought you wanted to stay out and party. I mean, it was your idea.”

“Yeah, this is me getting warmed up,” Beau said. “I found some company, you know?”

“Oh!” Yasha exclaimed, looking slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, sure, I’ll, um, let Jester and Molly know.”

“Let me know what?” asked Molly loudly as he emerged from the crowd.

“Where’s Jester?” Beau asked, craning her neck to stare into the tavern behind him. She saw no sign of her, though, and she wasn’t the sort of person that was hard to spot.

Molly shrugged. “She said that she had to go get something and that she’d meet me back here,” he said. “I think maybe she just got bored poking around with me and wanted to go watch the fireworks some more.”

“And you just let her wander off on her own?” Beau asked incredulously. “Buddy system Molly, buddy system! The fuck, man?”

“Oh come on, Jester can take care of herself,” Molly said defensively. “Besides, it’s not my business to tell her what to do, especially since she’s not impaired or anything. She’ll be fine. Besides,” he added excitedly, “I found us something, Beau. There’s a fellow with a tent set up about a block from here who says he’s got herbs that’ll send us to the fucking moon. Its got a nice little safe space to keep us from getting lost in the crowd, full of interesting things to look at and experience. I had him put some aside for us, but they’re in high demand, so let’s get going!”

“I’m gonna have to pass for now,” Beau said. “I’ve got an engagement upstairs for the next couple of hours.”

Molly blinked. “ Okay, I’m impressed by how fast you work, but come on! You can have sex like, all the time! This is a unique opportunity!”

Beau shook her head. “You did not meet this woman, Molly,” she said. “Trust me, this is also a unique opportunity.”

Molly shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Whatever, you do you,” he said, “but I can’t believe you’re going to make me go get high alone after lecturing me about the buddy system.”

“I’ll come with you, Molly,” Yasha said. “I’ll keep an eye on you, make sure you have a fun trip.”

“Thanks Yasha! You’re a really good, reliable friend, you know?” Molly said pointedly.

Beau flipped him off. “Fuck you, Molly.”

“No Beau, very much fuck _you_.” Molly smiled at her. “Have a good time, though. Really, I mean it.”

Beau nodded.

As they stood up and went to leave, Yasha turned back to Beau. “Maybe wait for Jester to get back so you can tell her where we all are?” she asked.

“Sure,” Beau said.

Yasha nodded, then followed Molly back into the madness of the crowd.

Beau sat, waiting and drinking. She finished her whiskey and poured herself some wine. As she did, Cecily reappeared. She walked around the table and rested her head on Beau’s shoulder. “Room 108,” she whispered. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

Beau raised an eyebrow slyly. “I’ll keep you waiting just long enough.”

As Cecily disappeared back into the crowd, though, Beau’s smile fell away, and her stomach knotted with worry. Where was Jester?

She waited another ten minutes, doing her best not to think about it. Eventually, though, the wine bottle was empty, and Beau could no longer contain her fear. Jester had been gone too long – she could be in trouble. Beau got to her feet, concentrating hard to keep from wobbling too badly, and pushed her way into the crowd, determined to make it to the door. It was difficult to move through the tightly packed, unpredictably moving people, and she’d only made it about halfway there when someone plowed into her hard, and Beau went down in a tangle of limbs.

Swearing violently, Beau started trying to extricate herself from the person on top of her. After a few unsuccessful shoves, she realized they were partially pinned beneath her. Beau arched her back and extricated their blue hand from beneath her. Wait. Blue hand.

Beau looked the person on top of her in the eye for the first time and found herself nose to nose with a very flushed Jester.

“Beau!” Jester said delightedly. “I was just looking for you!”

“Yeah, uh, I was looking for you too,” Beau said, feeling embarrassed. She was suddenly very aware of the pressure of Jester’s weight on her hips, and she determinedly kept her eyes fixed on Jester’s face, ignoring the very revealing view that this angle afforded her. “Molly said you went off on your own, and I was, uh, getting worried about you. Where’d you run off to?”

“Oh yeah, that!” Jester exclaimed, standing up and offering Beau a hand. Beau took it, and Jester lifted her to her feet. She was really astonishingly strong. Beau straightened her vest self-consciously.

Jester fumbled behind her back and produced a flower crown, a beautiful ring of blue and green carnations. “I wanted you to have one too,” she explained. “I know you said you didn’t like flowers, but I think these would look really great on you. They, um, got a little bit rumpled in the crowd, but that just means you don’t have to worry about messing them up so much!” Jester held it out towards Beau. “Here, let me put it on you! I mean if you like it. If you don’t, it’s totally fine, I just thought…” she trailed off uncertainly.

Beau felt a surge of emotion in her chest that threatened to close off her airways as it squeezed. “No, it’s, um, it’s beautiful. Thanks, Jester.” Beau bowed her head forward, and Jester placed it on her, gently tucking a stray strand of Beau’s hair behind her ear as she did so.

“You look very dashing in it,” Jester said. Neither of them spoke for a moment, and Beau felt herself blushing.

Jester cleared her throat uncomfortably, and Beau was surprised to see her looking uncertain for a moment. “Where are Yasha and Molly?” Jester asked. “I thought they’d both be here by now.”

“Oh, yeah, Molly went off to get high, and Yasha went with him to make sure he was safe,” Beau said, eager for the change in topic.

“I thought you were going to go with him,” Jester said. Then her eyes widened. “Oh no, did you stay behind to wait for me?”

Beau shrugged. “I wanted to make sure you were safe. Buddy system and all that.”

“Oh Beau, I’m so sorry!” Jester said, “I didn’t even think about that! I didn’t mean to make you miss out on your plans tonight – that was really thoughtless of me!”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s alright,” Beau said. It wasn’t like she hadn’t found a different form of entertainment anyway.

“Well, let me make it up to you!” Jester said. “Would you want to come watch the fireworks with me? I bet we could get a really good view if we can find a way up to the roof.”

This was the part where Beau should have explained that she’d already made plans to spend a few hours in bed with one of the hottest women she’d ever met. She would tell Jester that she’d catch up later, and that maybe they could go meet up with Molly and Yasha after and all watch the fireworks together.

Instead, Beau said, “I would love to. We’ve got rooms on the top floor – maybe we can climb out the window.”

Jester beamed at her. “That’s a great idea, Beau. Let’s go!” She grabbed Beau by the hand and pulled her through the crowd, practically running for the stairs. As they reached the first landing, Beau spared a glance towards room 108. For just a moment, she felt shitty for leaving Cecily in the lurch. But then Jester’s enthusiasm overwhelmed her again, and together they sprinted up four more flights of stairs to reach the top floor.

The windows in their room locked from the inside, so opening them was no problem, but it was a very long way down, and Beau was forcibly reminded of exactly how much she’d had to drink. Fortunately, the roof above was flat and devoid of eaves. Jester noticed Beau’s unsteadiness and crawled up first, reaching back down to pull Beau up after her.

The roof was flat and open, and so was the view from it. Few buildings rose taller than this one, so Beau had a nearly unobstructed view of Hupperdook spreading out below. The bustle and joy of the crowds below seemed distant, drifting up to them as a pleasant background chatter on the breeze.

Jester led Beau to the chimney and sat down, leaning back against it. Beau followed suit, and together they stared up at the gorgeous night sky as brilliant explosions of colored fire burst across it.

“Oh wow,” Beau whispered in awe. There was something special, something uniquely transcendent, about being so close to the fireworks and so far away from everyone else. It felt like a show just for them.

“Yeah,” Jester whispered back, her voice hitching slightly. “They’re so – so colorful. So powerful.”

“I’ve never seen anything like them.” Beau relaxed her body, letting her head lull back so she was staring nearly straight up, watching as if from the bottom of a lake as the multi-colored stars danced across the surface far above.

A volley of silver lights exploded, little gleaming streamers snaking their way out and across the starry backdrop, shimmering out of existence as showers of purple and blue sparks burst into existence around them.

“It’s so beautiful,” Jester whispered. Beau turned to look at her. Jester’s expression was open, her face full of wonder and joy, and her eye were shining.

“Yeah, it is,” Beau whispered back. Almost without thinking about it, she leaned into Jester so that their shoulders were pressing against each other. Jester leaned into the contact. Beau began to lean in further, moving her face towards Jester’s, even as Jester continued to stare up at the sky, preparing to – preparing to…

To what? To kiss her?

Beau jerked away suddenly in a panic, putting a few inches between herself and Jester. Jester reacted to her sudden movement, looking at Beau in alarm. “Beau! Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah, totally fine!” Beau said, panicked and breathless. “Just, uh, just scratched my back on the chimney! Those bricks sure are sharp, huh?”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Jester said, leaning towards her. “Do you want me to heal you?”

“No! No, that’s okay,” Beau said. “Just a scratch, really. It didn’t even break skin.” She pointed out towards one of the fireworks at random. “Look at that! That one sure is pretty, isn’t it?”

“Oh yeah!” Jester gasped, settling back into position to watch.

Beau tried her best to do the same, but her heart would not stop pounding and her thoughts would not stop racing. Why had she almost tried to do that? Why had she wanted to kiss Jester? She wasn’t attracted to Jester – she was her best friend! She was just drunk and horny and probably frustrated that she wasn’t currently fucking Cecily’s brains out, that was all. That was just the track her mind had already been on.

Except. She hadn’t been thinking about Cecily when she had leaned into Jester. She’d been thinking about the joy in Jester’s eyes, the way they lit up with delight at each new, wonderful thing she encountered. She’d been thinking about how determined Jester always was to find the good and the magic in everything she did, about her giddy recklessness and her certainty of purpose, and about how badly she wanted to kiss her soft blue lips and feel her tense and gasp in her embrace. She’d been thinking about how beautiful every single detail of Jester was, about her cute nose and her cute freckles and her cute horns, especially the one missing its tip from when they fought the spider together.

So what though? Beau could admit that Jester was, like, objectively attractive, but that didn’t mean that she, Beau, was attracted to her. She could notice and appreciate beauty platonically! And even if she was attracted to Jester, Jester certainly wasn’t attracted to her – she’d talked to Beau often enough about how much she was looking forward to finally meeting a man she could fall in love with. Beau didn’t fall for straight girls; she was above that kind of adolescent yearning. And even if, by some miracle, Jester got drunk one night and decided she wanted to experiment or something, Beau could not afford to develop feelings for her! She and Jester were a bad kind of people to get entangled with! They were wanted criminals, for fuck’s sake! And even more so, Beau was lying to her about being sober! There was no way she could let Jester get tangled up with her like that – it would be incredibly cruel.

Beau needed to get those kinds of thoughts out of her system. She’d just head down to Cecily’s room – she wasn’t past the half hour they’d set yet – and after she got off a few times, her head would be clear again. That would help her put all of this in order.

Except Beau couldn’t bring herself to leave. So she sat there, staring numbly at the fireworks and trying very hard not to look at Jester as she marveled at them.

She was just psyching herself up to actually tell Jester that she was ready to head back down when Jester spoke. “Beau?” she asked uncertainly. “I’m, um, kind of cold. Would it be okay if I cuddled with you?

Beau’s lips moved for a moment without making any sound. _No!_ she screamed at herself. _Don’t do this to yourself or her!_ But she couldn’t really deny Jester without making it weird. Really, she was just being polite; her fucked up emotions were no reason to be rude. “Yeah, of course,” she said, raising an arm.

Jester slipped under it and snuggled in close, leaning her head against Beau’s shoulder. Beau stiffened, but as she felt the warmth of Jester’s breath tickle her cheek, felt her gasp as an enormous ball of golden sparks exploded once before each individual spark exploded into a thousand smaller sparks, Beau guiltily let herself relax into Jester. As they watched the glittery gold fade away, Beau could no longer deny her feelings.

She had a crush on her best friend. Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally get to add the Pining tag to this fic! It only took 60k words to get there - is that a slow enough burn for everyone?


	13. Acceptance and Resolve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: A fairly intense description of dissociation/derealization/depersonalization. This is a rough one.

The morning came far too early for Jester’s liking. Its arrival was heralded by Yasha knocking firmly on the door of the room she and Beau had crashed in sometime around four in the morning. She couldn’t have been asleep for more than two hours, and she wanted nothing more than to tell Yasha to fuck off. Beau looked like she was having similar thoughts, but Jester thought that she looked even worse than Jester felt. There were dark circles under Beau’s eyes that gave her a distinctly haunted look, and Jester had the strangest suspicion that she hadn’t actually slept at all.

It took them surprisingly little time to get back on the road, all things considered. The streets were all but deserted, with few signs of the previous night’s festivities. The sound of hammers on anvils filled the air, a fact that Beau seemed to resent. She must’ve drunk quite a bit while Jester was out buying her crown to have that bad of a hangover.

They made it out of town largely as a result of Yasha’s implacable determination; she didn’t look as though she’d done anything last night but sleep peacefully. She insisted that she had had a good time, though, and that babysitting Molly had been plenty of fun. Molly, for his part, was giddy as a schoolgirl, eagerly regaling them with tales of the sights and sensations he’d experienced the night before, and about the dance he’d dragged Yasha to once his drugs started wearing off.

Jester would’ve been jealous of all the fun they’d had without her if it weren’t for the perfect night she’d had with Beau. Watching the fireworks from the roof had brought her a kind of peace and simple joy that she hadn’t had in… well, maybe ever. Beau’s arm around her had made her feel warm and safe, had freed her of the anxieties and worries that had plagued her the whole trip and left her able to truly savor the night. She was lucky to have a friend like Beau.

Jester only wished it had been as relaxing for Beau. As the day wore on, Jester managed to shake off the fog of exhaustion and engage with their surroundings, laughing at Molly’s stories and Yasha’s odd bursts of deadpan humor. If anything, Beau seemed to draw in on herself more. Jester’s attempts to pull her into the conversation were failures, with Beau usually contributing a short, somewhat distracted comment before tuning back out. Jester worried that maybe she’d done something to make Beau uncomfortable. Maybe cuddling and watching fireworks on a roof wasn’t something you did with best friends? At least not when you’d only been friends for a couple of months? Jester didn’t really know. She’d only ever had one friend before Beau, and he was nowhere near conventional.

By the end of the day, they had arrived at the outskirts of the Crispvale Thicket, where they would follow the Glory Run Road north out of the Empire. It was beautiful and lush, the withering breath of autumn replacing the uniform greens with brilliant oranges and reds that seemed to dance like fire, and as they began unpacking supplies from the cart to make camp and prepare dinner, Jester felt an intense desire to explore.

As Molly started making a fire, Jester turned to Beau. “I’m going to go for a walk!” she announced. “Would you come with me?” she asked hopefully.

Beau looked away, avoiding eye contact. “I, uh, didn’t do my exercises this morning,” she mumbled. “I’m gonna have Yasha put me through those.”

“Oh. Okay!” Jester said, doing her best to sound cheery. “I’ll see you when I get back then!” She turned and wandered away.

The woods really were gorgeous, and Jester did her best to lose herself in the beauty around her. She skipped along a riverbank, enjoying the way the fallen leaves kicked up in small poofs behind her. She paused at a large willow to paint the symbol of the Traveler onto its trunk. As she admired her handiwork, she heard a light rushing sound, like the wind through the branches, and she turned to see him standing there, his smile just peeking out from beneath his hood.

“Hello Jester,” the Traveler said, his voice familiar and comfortable. “Have you been having fun on the road?”

Jester’s smile felt like it was going to split her face in half. “Traveler!” she cried in delight. “I was wondering if you were hanging around! It’s so good to see you!”

“You know I’m never far,” the Traveler said, his smile widening. “But I have been worried that you haven’t been having as much fun as you really deserve to these past few days.”

“Hupperdook was really fun!” Jester insisted. “I mean, I guess I didn’t play as many pranks as I wanted to, but I did tie that guy’s bootlaces together on my way to the flower crown stall. That’s always funny.”

“It was really funny,” the Traveler chuckled. “The look on his face when he fell over on three other people trying to catch you was divine.”

“I know right? And then I had a really nice time watching the fireworks with Beau.” Jester frowned slightly. “I think she might be mad at me, only I don’t know why!”

“That sounds more like a ‘her’ problem honestly,” the Traveler said with a yawn. “Her opinion of you really shouldn’t be any of your concern. We could plan a wonderful trick to play on her if you like.”

“Of course I care about what Beau thinks of me, she’s my friend!” Jester said indignantly. “And I thought that meant you would too. I could really use your help, Traveler.”

The Traveler sighed. “I’m glad you have someone you’ve decided you care about, Jester, but you know that all this…” he waved a hand vaguely, “…interpersonal drama bores me to tears! If you want to know what Beauregard is thinking, you could try asking someone else close to her.”

That brought Jester up short. Why hadn’t she thought of that? It seemed so obvious! Maybe it was just that it stung a bit to imagine Beau confiding in Yasha or Molly instead of her. “That’s really good advice,” she said. “Thanks Traveler.”

“I am pretty amazing, aren’t I?” the Traveler preened. “And I get even better.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I’m going to show you a new trick, one that will make it easier for you to keep spreading joy and chaos, even when you can’t afford to take the time to do it the normal way. I’m going to teach you how to do a sending.”

“A sending?” Jester frowned slightly, confused. “You mean, like, sending a letter?”

“Less a letter and more of a message,” the Traveler said. “A message from nowhere, to anyone you’ve ever met, no matter where they are. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you what kind of tricks you could play on people with that!”

Jester’s eyes widened. “Oh my gosh,” she whispered, delight filling her as she considered the possibilities. “Can I try it now?”

“Be my guest,” the Traveler said, and he quickly demonstrated the magical manipulation required. Jester followed his lead, gathering a thin web of power over her lips and fixing the target of the spell squarely in her mind.

She felt the energy hum in her lips as it coalesced and activated. Then she spoke in a deep, menacing tone that hurt her throat a bit. “Clive,” she growled, “I know your crimes. I know your soul. The Lawbearer will judge you harshly, sooner than you think.” Jester paused, then realized that the spell hadn’t discharged yet. “Try not to piss yourself?” she added hesitantly, waiting to see if that would finish the sending. It seemed to, at first, as the magic lifted away from her lips and burst, seeming to dissipate into the ambient energy of Exandria. It quickly recoalesced and flowed into her ears, and she heard Clive’s voice, gravelly and panicked.

“Please have mercy on me!” he begged, his voice sounding ragged. “It was just a grapefruit! I didn’t know it was his, I didn’t know he would still eat it! I thought the worst-case scenario was –“. His voice cut out abruptly, and Jester felt the spell release completely. She turned to face the Traveler and started giggling.

“Oh man, Traveler!” she said, “I am going to have so much fun with this!”

“Good,” he said, his smile growing wider. “I’ll be watching, Jester. Make me proud.”

“I will!” Jester said. She turned back towards the tree where she’d painted the Traveler’s symbol. “Do you think maybe this could use a few more details?” she called over her shoulder. “Like, maybe some unicorns or a few dicks or something, to make sure whoever finds it knows what you’re about?”

Jester looked over her shoulder towards the Traveler, but he was gone. She let out a sigh. “Alright, no unicorns,” she muttered to herself, then quickly drew a large dick up near the branches and walked away, heading back towards camp.

Molly had banked the fire into a lovely bed of evenly heated coals by the time she returned, and the one pot they’d brought with them bubbled merrily over it, filling the air with the rich smell of stew. Jester knew by now that it smelled better than it tasted, but she still enjoyed their simple broth of salted mutton, barley, and whatever vegetables and herbs Yasha had picked while they were travelling. It felt rustic and adventurous.

She plopped down on the ground next to Molly, who was reclining against a log and shuffling his tarot cards. “Have a good walk?” he asked.

“Yeah, pretty good.” Jester considered telling him about the visit from the Traveler and her new spell, but then she would be giving up the chance to use it on him for a prank. There was no reason to show her hand yet. Instead, she and Molly watched quietly as, across the clearing, Beau and Yasha sparred.

Jester couldn’t be anything but impressed at how far Beau had come in just a few months. She watched in awe as Beau ducked beneath a vicious swipe of the long stick Yasha was using instead of a sword, retaliating with a pair of quick punches that caused Yasha to take a step back and let Beau shift her position so that her back was against a nearby tree. When Yasha struck again, Beau countered by striking Yasha’s wrist, deflecting the plane of the blow so that the stick drove into the side of the tree, becoming entangled with a cluster of branches. As Yasha wrestled it free, Beau used her moment of distraction to push off from the tree trunk and, with the extra force generated, tackle Yasha into the dirt.

“She’s gotten halfway to decent, hasn’t she?” Molly commented detachedly as Beau and Yasha wrestled violently on the forest floor.

“She’s doing really good!” Jester responded. She felt a sense of relief wash through her. “I was afraid that all her drinking last night had really fucked her up.”

“Getting fucked up is kind of the point,” Molly said. “How did you mean, exactly?”

“Well, she had a really easy time with withdrawal when we left Zadash,” Jester said, noticing the way Molly’s eyes flicked away uncomfortably when she turned to face him. What was that about? She continued, “I thought that, since she drank a ton last night out of the blue, her body might get confused and have a crash or something? But if she’s taking Yasha down, she can’t be doing too badly.”

“Hmm,” was Molly’s only response. He leaned over to take a look at the stew. “Hey, food’s done!” he yelled to Beau and Yasha. “You two can finish pinning each other to the ground later!”

As Yasha pulled Beau to her feet, Jester turned to face Molly squarely. “Did you bring anything to drink with you on this trip, Molly?” she asked innocently.

“Sure,” Molly said with an air of nonchalance that would have fooled Jester when she first met him, “I bring everything I care about with me wherever I go. I have a few liquors from my travels – do you want some?”

“No thanks,” Jester said as Beau plopped down next to her and enthusiastically grabbed a bowl of stew.

It was a nice dinner, and Jester savored the stew as much as ever. They laughed and told stories and jokes and chatted as the smoke rose into the ever-darkening sky. At some point, the pot was fully emptied and Yasha pulled it off the fire to wash it out while Beau added more wood, coaxing it back into a brilliant blaze that pushed the edges of the darkness out away from their tents.

Finally, as Jester stifled a yawn, Beau stood up from her position perched on a log. “Right!” she said, too enthusiastically, “Time for you two to get some sleep! Me and Molly will wake you up in a few hours.”

“Actually Beau,” Jester said, “I think I’ll take first watch with Molly tonight. You’ve obviously been exhausted all day, and after all that sparring I bet you’re ready to drop.” Beau started to protest, but Jester cut her off with a wave. “It’s no trouble, really!” she insisted. “Besides, I want to talk to Molly about, like, tiefling things and stuff.”

Beau looked like she wanted to argue more but couldn’t think of another thing to say. Jester smiled sweetly at her until she muttered an awkward goodnight and crawled into their tent. Yasha bid Jester a quiet goodnight as well, and Jester thought she saw a little bit of hurt in her expression. Then it was just her and Molly, sitting silently next to the crackling fire.

Jester was the first to break the quiet. “So how does this normally go?” she asked, her voice shaking slightly.

“What do you mean?” asked Molly.

“Well, do you and Beau start drinking as soon as me and Yasha have gone to bed, or do you wait an hour or so?”

In the silence that followed, the blood pounding in Jester’s ears was deafening. She could practically see the gears whirring in Molly’s brain as he considered and discarded different ways to respond to Jester’s accusation. Finally, he just shrugged and said, “Usually about half an hour, actually.”

“What the fuck, Molly?!” Jester exploded. “You’re supposed to be keeping an eye out for danger! I can’t believe you’ve been putting us at risk just so you can have a private party every night!”

“Oh please,” Molly said disparagingly. “For one thing, we don’t drink that much, and for another, don’t try to pretend that that’s what you’re upset about. For the record, though, Beau didn’t tell me that she was trying to get sober.”

“I don’t believe you!” Jester said. “Why would she only tell me?” Had Beau lied to her? Why would she do that.

“Probably just good intention gone bad,” Molly said. “One day dry and she finds out I have booze? I bet she figured if she told me, I wouldn’t share.”

“Well, you know now,” said Jester, “so are you done enabling her?”

“She hasn’t asked me to stop,” said Molly. “That’s her choice to make, not yours. I’m not going to fucking force sobriety on her – Beau’s an adult who can make her own bloody choices.”

“Well she told me, and I’m telling you,” Jester said furiously. “Cut her off. She tried to do it herself when she left Zadash, so stop fucking it up for her!”

“You don’t get it, do you Jester?” Molly said with an incredulous laugh. “Have you ever seen someone go cold turkey? She’ll be in withdrawal for days, miserable out of her mind, and she won’t be at home in bed where she can try to minimize her suffering. No, she’ll be in a cart in the wilderness headed towards a den of criminals, where we’re all relying on her knowledge to make your insane plan work. That’s not even touching whatever shit she’s been drinking to avoid. You really want to force her to go through that? Because if she was fucking ready to deal with it, she’d be doing it.”

His words might as well have been wind. Jester understood exactly what she needed to do. She reached out towards him. “Give me your bottles, Molly.”

“Fuck off,” said Molly.

Jester curled her hand threateningly. “I will take them if I have to.”

“I don’t have them on me, okay?” Molly spat angrily.

“Bullshit. There’s no way you crawl over Yasha every night to retrieve them, and you thought you’d be sitting watch with Beau tonight.” Jester advanced on him, even as Molly backed away from her. “I said give them to me.”

“And I said fuck o-“ Molly’s voice strangled as it escaped his mouth, collapsing into a sputtering rattle as Jester sent a burst of magic into him, a signal to his muscles that superseded the orders of his brain, demanding that they lock and hold him in place.

As Molly did his best to struggle against his own body, Jester darted forward and patted him down. It wasn’t hard to find the pair of medium glass bottles in the pockets of his coat. With a sense of righteous disgust, Jester uncorked one, then the other, and turned them over, watching as the transparent liquor poured out of them into the soil at her feet. When they were empty, she dropped them disdainfully into the dirt and released the spell.

Molly dropped to his knees and took in big, heaving gasps, struggling to refill the lungs that his paralyzed diaphragm had allowed to collapse. Jester felt a spark of pity, but it was overshadowed by a blaze of triumph. As his breathing slowed, Molly reached out and picked up the empty bottles, stowing them back into his coat. He got to his feet and brushed the dirt off his pants.

When he finally looked at Jester, his gaze was cold. “One day,” he said softly, his voice frigid with anger, “you are going to discover that your actions have consequences.”

“I know all about consequences,” Jester said scornfully. “Are you going to finish this watch with me or what?”

* * *

Beau groaned in agony as the latest bump in the road drove a fresh lance of agony through her already pounding skull. The roiling, acid sea in her stomach surged in response, but this time, at least, she didn’t puke. She hadn’t puked since the previous night, which would’ve been something to be grateful for - if she was in the mood to be grateful. Given her current position, laying in the back of the cart beneath a blanket to keep the agonizing light of the sun out of her eyes, soaked through in an awful, metallic-smelling sweat, Beau wasn’t particularly inclined towards gratefulness. A fresh batch of vile curses rose out of her ragged, eroded throat, all aimed squarely at Jester. Beau cursed her for her self-righteousness, her stupid, arrogant certainty that she knew best and that everyone else could just fucking deal with it.

The feelings she’d had that morning after her watch, when she’d asked Molly discretely if she could get a quick swallow before they got underway to hold her over and he’d shown her his empty bottles and gestured towards Jester, who was looking on smugly, were still difficult to fully unpack. There had been the stomach-turning moment of panic, like she’d felt when the Crownsguard first showed up to drag her and Tori away in chains, though whether that was because Jester had caught her in a lie or because she was out of booze was impossible to say. There’d been some shame also, sure, but the overwhelming response had been anger. She couldn’t remember the exact words that had poured out of her, but by the end of the tirade Jester looked like she was about to cry. She hadn’t said a word as they’d broken camp and rolled out.

Served her right. Jester’s guilt – if that was what it was – could not possibly compare to the agony she had condemned Beau to. It had barely been midday before Beau had started shaking. It had been a simple tremor at first, annoying but manageable, but it had quickly escalated in intensity to the point where Beau thought she was going to shake herself to pieces. She’d made Molly give her his empty bottles at that point so she could try to suck any stray drops from them, but it hadn’t done anything to stop her from vomiting violently over the side of the cart barely fifteen minutes later. It had only gone downhill from there.

It had been three days now without a moment’s respite from the agony of her existence. Even the peace of sleep was denied her. Beau was pretty sure that her screaming nightmares woke the others, but she didn’t care. They didn’t have to watch the worst moments of her life dance around them, whispering and howling words of blame and condemnation. She had experienced every permutation and remix of her worst memories and fears she could imagine. They didn’t always leave her alone during the day, either. Without the comforting buzz of alcohol, she could no longer block out the sharp memory of her father striking her in the face as he banished her from his house, of the moment she had almost gone to look for Thed before deciding against it, of the feeling of the spider’s fangs ripping her intestines out of her body and pumping poison in to fill the now-empty cavity. Sometimes she was grateful for the physical pain that consumed her every waking moment – sometimes it didn’t leave room for any thoughts or memories.

So yeah, Beau wasn’t concerned about whether her friends were sleeping well or not. She hated them all. Obviously she hated Jester for throwing her cavalierly into this hell, and she hated Molly for not stopping her, for abandoning Beau to this suffering. She tried to hate Yasha too, but without much luck. Yasha had been nothing but kind to Beau throughout this ordeal, but she never looked at her with pity. Instead, she would place a hand on Beau’s forehead, and Beau would feel her fingers grow warm, and that warmth would lessen the pain of her existence for just a little while.

It was some kind of magic, Beau knew that much, but she didn’t feel enough like a person to have emotions like curiosity about how Yasha had access to it. She only recognized it because the sensation reminded her of when Jester had healed her during the days of her recovery. Jester had offered to contribute healing of her own, but Beau had vehemently refused her, had threatened to bite off any finger that Jester laid on her, so she had kept her distance. Just Beau’s luck that Jester had decided that now was the right time to start respecting Beau’s agency.

“Beau?” Yasha’s soft voice called to her from beyond the blanket, dragging Beau’s muddled mind out of her huddled misery. “We’re almost to the Quannah Breach. We could really use your help.”

“Go to hell,” Beau said hoarsely.

There was a pause. “Alright,” Yasha said sadly, and Beau heard a shuffling sound as she moved away.

Beau lay there for a minute longer, wrestling with whatever dregs of altruism and compassion were left in her hollow shell of a soul, before swearing again and pulling herself into a sitting position. She squinted against the late afternoon light as the blanket fell away from her face. As her eyes adjusted, her friends slowly came into focus, all staring at her and looking somewhere between concerned and surprised.

Molly spoke first. “All that beauty sleep has really done wonders for you, Beau.”

Beau flipped him off, but she also managed half a smile. It felt good to smile.

Yasha was smiling too. She reached out and gave Beau’s hand a comforting squeeze. “It’s good to see you,” she said softly.

Beau returned the squeeze. “Sorry for being a total bitch,” Beau whispered back. “Can’t promise I’m done, but I am sorry.”

She released Yasha’s hand and looked inevitably, inexorably, towards Jester. She was at the reins today, impressively silhouetted against the rapidly approaching entrance to the Quannah Breach. Her face was drawn and tense, but there was a fragile, wavery, hopeful smile on her face as she met Beau’s gaze, eyes shining with emotion. Even now, her clothes travel-stained and dirty, her hair a tangled, unwashed mess, even after everything she’d done, she was still so beautiful that the sight of her made Beau’s heart stop.

“Beau…” Jester began hesitantly, her voice tremulous.

Beau held up a hand and stared her down, her expression hard. “Don’t talk to me right now. I fucking – I fucking can’t with you right now, okay? Please.”

Tears welled up in Jester’s eyes, but she nodded sharply once and turned back to face the road. Beau gestured the others in close and tried to focus through her headache to remember what she’d read about the Quannah Breach.

“Right,” she said, “Shady Creek Run is controlled by four families. One of those is the Uttolot family, and they control passage through the Quannah Breach. They like to take a toll from anyone who passes through. I’m, uh, not sure if we have the money to pay it, but I think I can talk us past them.”

There was no missing the look Molly and Yasha exchanged at that. Beau felt anger bubble up in her chest. Why had they fucking bothered her in the first place if they didn’t think she could hack it? She opened her mouth to give voice to her thoughts, but Jester spoke first.

“Sounds like a good plan,” she called from the front of the cart, not turning her head from the road. Beau was grateful for that.

Molly and Yasha exchanged another look, but then Molly turned back towards Beau and nodded.

“Better get out and talk to them, then,” Yasha said, glancing over shoulder towards the gate. “They’re coming.”

By sheer force of will, Beau forced her shaking hands to tightly grasp the side of the cart, and she hauled her aching body as gracefully as she could over the side and on to the ground. She straightened her clothes as quickly and approached the front of the cart, letting an easy, roguish smile slide onto her face as she began to take in the situation.

As Beau made the mental shift into the interrogative, alert state of mind that she used when dealing with clients, she was surprised by how easy and natural it felt. In many ways, her mind felt like an old machine whirring back to life after years of disuse, joints and hinges squealing with rust, but underneath still solid and dependable, and so very familiar. To her absolute astonishment, even through her pounding headache and shaking hands and sour stomach, her wits felt sharper than they had in months. As she took in the situation, the armored guards approaching her, the symbol of the Uttolots displayed prominently, the path forward almost seemed to come to her of its own accord.

Beau stepped to the front of the cart, meeting the two guards. One of them, an orcish woman, was looking the cart up and down with undisguised derision. The other, an elven man, was similarly inspecting Beau’s friends, looking similarly unimpressed. His eyes flicked between them dismissively, pausing only to give Jester a threatening leer. Beau couldn’t see how Jester reacted, but it must not have been what the man was hoping for – his expression curdled into a scowl. Beau felt a trace of amusement creep into her smile.

The orc woman turned to address her. “Welcome to the Quannah Breach,” she said. “Whether you go any further than the entrance depends on whether you can pay our toll.”

Beau gave an amused chuckle from deep in her throat. “That’s adorable,” she said.

“Excuse me?” the guard said, pulling her sword halfway out of its scabbard.

Beau rolled her eyes exasperatedly. She leaned towards the guard conspiratorially. “We have Darko Trebain’s goods,” she whispered with a wink.

“Is that so?” the guard asked, matching Beau’s tone. “Well, you’ll be delighted to know that we charge double for anyone working for the Trebains.” She gave Beau a smug grin.

Beau looked at her like she was an idiot. “We have Trebain’s goods,” she said, slowly, placing deliberate emphasis on every word. “I didn’t say we were delivering them to Trebain. Jagoda promised me clear passage as part of our arrangement. Is this his idea of honoring a bargain?” She turned away from the guard to face the cart. She made an irritated gesture and yelled, “Turn the cart around! We’ll take our business to someone who keeps their fucking word!”

“Aye aye!” Jester yelled in enthusiastic response as she began making a great show of pulling on the reins.

“Wait, wait!” the guard grabbed Beau’s arm frantically. Beau spun back towards her and knocked the arm away, hard, with a powerful block.

“Touch me again and you’ll regret it,” she hissed dramatically.

“I’m sorry,” the guard said, “Jagoda must have forgotten to send word of your coming. He’s a very busy man.”

“I’m busy too,” Beau said disdainfully.

“Please, come right through! I’ll have some of my men escort you to him at once!”

“Uh huh.” Beau made a show of looking over the guard detail scornfully. “I think we’ll be just fine. We know the way.”

“As you say.” The guard turned and signaled the others as Beau hopped back into the cart. The guard waved them through.

They all held their poker faces until they were out of sight of the gate. Finally, they let out the collective breath they’d been holding. Jester started laughing, Molly shook his head in amazement and clapped Beau on the back, and Yasha just stared at her. “How did you do that?” she asked.

Beau felt a proud smile break out onto her face. “The Trebains are another one of the four families, and the Uttolots really hate them. Something about conflicting business interests – I’m not super clear on the details. Jagoda Uttolot has a reputation for being bad-tempered, violent, bloodthirsty, and, like, stupidly aggressive. So I figured that arranging to have someone hijack a Trebain merchant cart and then forgetting to tell anyone at the gate would be exactly the kind of thing he would do, and that the guards at the gate would be too afraid of getting on his bad side to question us.”

Molly whistled softly. “That’s a hell of trick to try,” he said, sounding impressed. “Can’t believe it worked so well, to be honest.”

“Yeah, that went, like weirdly well,” Jester called back from the front. She had turned back to face them, and Beau could see the hesitancy in her expression as she glanced towards her. “Like, I can’t believe they didn’t question you at all, Beau. They didn’t even check if we were actually transporting anything. How did you know that they would just believe us?”

Beau looked back at Jester, trying to decide which of the powerful, visceral emotions she felt at seeing her face to let dominate. Ultimately, it didn’t take her vey long to decide, and she smiled at Jester. “Because it would be insane to tell a lie that big and that easy to check just to dodge a toll gate.”

* * *

They arrived at Shady Creek Run late that night. The tangled mess of a city should have filled Beau with a low current of excitement – this was her chance to explore a place that she had spent countless hours reading about, after all – but Beau was far more concerned with her bone-deep exhaustion, her pounding headache, and her numerous other small sufferings. The only thing she was interested in right now was finding a tavern so they could rest for the night and she could put her withdrawal symptoms to bed.

So when they pulled up next to a rundown, rough-looking inn, Beau didn’t even bother to check its name before hurrying inside, her friends scrambling to keep up. The barroom was about as nice as the exterior, and it was moderately busy.

“Get us some rooms,” she said distractedly to Molly before making a beeline to an empty barstool. As she tried to catch the bartender’s attention, a flurry of movement next to her drew her eye, and she was surprised to see Jester plop down onto the stool next to her. She met Beau’s inquisitive expression with a determined one.

“You understand that my decision to forgive you for throwing me into withdrawal hell is contingent on you not doing it again, right?” Beau asked bluntly.

Jester nodded, her expression still fixed. “I’m not going to interfere,” she promised. “I just want to understand. I thought I was helping. I thought you wanted to get sober.”

“I did,” Beau said. _I do_ , she wanted to say, but the words didn’t ring true anymore.

The bartender came over. “What can I get you two?”

Beau tossed a few silvers down. “A bottle of whiskey and a shot glass.”

“Coming right up.” The bartender moved away.

Jester shifted uncomfortably. “I just… don’t really see the appeal? Like, from what I’ve seen, being drunk doesn’t make people happier, it just makes them more of what they already are. What do you get out of it?”

“You mean aside from the giant fucking physical dependency I’ve developed?” Beau said with a dark chuckle. “I’ve got some fucked up shit rattling around in my head, Jester, and not all of it is just from the last three months. You think I begged you to take me in because my life had been going great so far?”

The bartender returned just after Molly and Yasha did, confirming that they’d secured two rooms. The whiskey and the shot glass were placed in front of Beau. Molly ordered some wine and looked like he was ready to join the conversation. Beau decided to head him off. “Welp, I’m fuckin’ sick of all of your faces,” she said, wincing internally at how callous she sounded. “I’m gonna head upstairs and have some alone time. Jester, great talk. See you all in the morning.”

If they had a response to offer, Beau didn’t wait around to hear it. She grabbed her whiskey and all but ran towards the stairs, away from the concern and care and stupid fucking pity of her friends.

Or she tried to. She’d barely ascended half the flight when Jester’s hand reached out and grabbed her free one. Beau looked back at her. It was just Jester – the other two must have taken her at her word.

“You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” Jester said quietly, hollowly. “I don’t want – I don’t want you to do anything you regret.”

Beau’s cruel, instinctive response escaped her mouth before she could think better of it. “What, do you want to ruin this for me too?” The words sounded more like a snarl, and Beau felt a powerful sense of shame and self-loathing bubble up inside her at the hurt that flashed across Jester’s face. It was quickly replaced with anger.

“Just because you’re in pain doesn’t mean you can be awful to me!” Jester spat back at her. “I’m your friend, not your fucking punching bag.”

“I’m sorry,” Beau said quietly, knowing it was insufficient for the days of abuse she’d subjected Jester to. Subjected all of them to.

Jester’s face was still hard, but she blinked once and nodded. “Well, let’s get on with it,” she said, her voice tight.

The room they’d rented was small, shabby, and damp. Jester took a seat on the lumpy, mildewed mattress, while Beau arranged herself cross-legged on the floor, setting the bottle and the glass down in front of her.

As she wrestled with the cork, Jester spoke. “You didn’t really answer me earlier,” she said, “about what drinking actually does for you.”

Beau frowned in concentration, most of her attention focused on the stubborn stopper keeping her from the sweet brown liquid. “I dunno, it makes everything fuzzier, sort of? It dulls the rough edges and sort of makes it harder to focus on anything too much. It keeps me from dwelling, I guess. Hard to dwell on anything when your head is swimming. Plus, it keeps my nightmares at bay. You’ve heard what I sleep like without it.”

Jester didn’t respond for a long time. During the silence, Beau slowly started making progress on the cork, drawing it a few more millimeters out of the neck of the bottle. Finally, Jester said, quietly, “It doesn’t really sound like it’s helping you deal with stuff.”

“Maybe I’m not ready to deal with stuff,” Beau responded just as quietly, ashamed. That was the gist of it, wasn’t it? She was too weak. Too undisciplined. She could practically feel her father’s scorn for her, even from all this distance. She was too weak to even face the memory of his displeasure.

“How will you ever be ready if you never look at what you’re trying to deal with?” Jester asked, and Beau didn’t have an answer for her. Fortunately, the cork finally came out of the bottle with a soft pop, and she no longer needed one.

Beau poured herself a shot, hands shaking slightly. She looked up at Jester, who looked back at her sadly. “Thanks for staying with me, Jester,” she said. She raised the shot in a toast. “Cheers.”

Beau stared at the drink for a moment longer, watching how the dim candlelight refracted through the amber liquid. It all seemed so surreal, so dreamlike. She took a deep breath, braced herself, and…

…and continued to hold the shot glass.

Her hand began to tremble. What was wrong with her? This was what she wanted, the moment she’d been dreaming of for days! Her headache was pounding, her stomach roiling, her body aching. That could all go away. Her head danced with specters, her father striking her, her mother looking down at her with disappointment and loathing, Thed’s lifeless husk crumbling away beneath her fingers, the revolting feeling of her knife as she sawed through skin and flesh and artery. She could quiet them. She could drown them. And still she held the glass, and her hand continued to tremble.

“Beau?” Jester asked, her voice uncertain. It came to Beau as if from the end of a long tunnel, far removed from her. She could just set it down, she realized. She could set it down and be sober a little while longer, and if it got to be too much she could drink later. Maybe that was what she should do. But something deep inside her raged against that, too. She wanted to drink it so badly. Her hand trembled harder, a few drops of whiskey slopping over the edges and falling onto her fingers.

Beau didn’t know what she wanted. She could feel her body and mind raging, each crying out for release from their own agonies, desperate to drink. She could feel some other part of her, something that felt separate and unquantifiable, screaming against them just as hard, screaming a desire for… something. Beau didn’t know what this other force wanted, but it did not want to drink. It all felt separate, distinct, like Beau was watching a hurricane rage from the shore, desperate to see an end to it but unable to bend the winds to her will. Her hand shook and shook, whiskey sloshing over the side and onto the floor now, as she squeezed tighter and tighter, trying to stabilize it. She felt so sure that if she could only stop shaking, she’d be able to think clearly, to regain control. She squeezed as tight as she could, and the shot glass shattered.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Beau watched the shards of glass lacerate her hand, sending a rain of blood and whiskey crashing to the floor. She stared for a moment, curious, at the red ruin of her palm. Then the signal finished travelling up her arm and into her brain, and a flash of white hot pain exploded from Beau’s palm, accompanied by a powerful, pulsing ache of deeper agony that knocked Beau squarely out of whatever strange trance she had been in and back into her own body. Time returned to normal, and Jester cried out in surprise and alarm as Beau opened her hand and let the crushed glass fall to the floor, already stained red.

Beau felt a reckless clarity flare through her and, without pausing even a moment to second guess herself, she seized the whiskey bottle and upended it, sending a rivulet of brown liquor pouring down to soak into the damp, moldy floorboards of the bedroom. A choked gurgling sound seemed to emanate from the bottle as air rushed in to replace the liquid, causing the stream to pulse like an artery as it poured and poured and poured until there was nothing left but drops, and Beau hurled the dead, empty casing away from her with all her might. It struck the wall with a resounding crack as it shattered into sparkling oblivion.

All was quiet for a moment. Beau stared numbly at her hands. A lump formed in her throat, and she took in a deep, shuddering breath. Then Jester’s hands were on hers, a glowing green overlay shimmering as Beau felt the cuts on her hand itch and burn and close. Then the overlay was gone and it was only Jester, her hands squeezing Beau’s so tightly that it squeezed a few tears out from behind her eyes. Beau looked up at Jester, her face mere inches from Beau’s own, and her expression was full of a soft, deep tenderness so powerful that the mere sight of it broke Beau to pieces.

She fell forward into Jester’s arms, sobbing as she had never sobbed before, her chest heaving and her throat straining as they struggled to release over two decades of pain and fear and suffering all at once. Beau wept and cried and gasped, her sobs devoid of beauty or toughness or dignity, and tears ran from her eyes and snot from her nose, mingling together into a revolting mess on Jester’s shoulder. Beau was sure she would push her away in disgust, but instead Jester wrapped her arms around Beau entirely and squeezed even tighter, forcing even more sobs up from a place so deep that Beau had forgotten it existed. Beau wept and grieved and let every pent up ounce of pain and suffering flow out with her tears, and as she clung tight to Jester’s warm embrace, that warmth flowed back in to fill the hole her grief had left in her, and Beau was filled with a love more powerful and true than any she had ever known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that might be the most intense chapter I've written so far. Hope you liked it!  
> I'd like to give a special shoutout to regular commenter gaysnerd whose comments have been incredibly gratifying to read, and also one to new commenter ielenia, who left me ten (10!!!) comments on the fic this past week. They were delightfully detailed and really made my week, and also one of them was this fic's 69th comment (nice). Thanks!


	14. Tusk Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note for posterity: At the time of writing this, we do not know Jester's canon sexuality. As much as I like the interpretation of her as a comphet lesbian, I've chosen to write her as obliviously bisexual in this fic.

When Beau had finally cried all she could, she reluctantly disentangled from Jester’s embrace and tried not to sniffle too pathetically as rubbed the tears from her face. Jester stood and walked towards the door, and Beau couldn’t stop herself from grabbing desperately at her hand. Jester looked down at her inquisitively, and Beau looked at the floor, shame at her weakness welling up within her as she said, “Don’t leave me alone tonight. Please.”

She braced for Jester to refuse her, to rebuff her, to tell her to grit her teeth and deal with it. Instead, she heard Jester say, very softly, “Okay. Whatever you need.”

Beau looked up at her, shocked. She tried to find a way to respond, some words that could convey the magnitude of emotion in her chest at the moment, but Jester had already looked away from Beau and into the middle distance, brows drawing together in concentration. She started speaking to empty air. “Yasha? This is Jester. Cool trick, right? Would you bring some water to mine and Beau’s room, knock on the door, and then leave? Thanks!”

She must have noticed Beau looking at her strangely, because she said, “It’s just something cool the Traveler taught me. I was going to save it for some really funny pranks, but… oh well.” Her face lit up suddenly. “Molly still doesn’t know about it! I could target him!”

“That… that sounds like it could be really fun,” Beau said weakly, her voice raw and cracking.

“Oh it super is!” Jester crouched next Beau and gave her a tentative, encouraging smile. “Like, when I was learning it, I tested it out on Clive –“.

Whatever Jester said next, Beau missed, because as she was speaking, Jester knelt on the floor, slipped her arms under Beau, and lifted her into a bridal carry. Beau’s brain short-circuited. The feeling of Jester’s muscles shift and flex powerfully, but not with any particular strain as she casually hoisted Beau into the air… Beau felt a flood of heat fill her entire body with a tingling, uncomfortably powerful arousal. Involuntarily, she let out a small gasp, and to her absolute horror, Jester noticed.

“What is it? Are you okay?” Jester demanded of her, her face suddenly worried again. “Are you going to puke? Please don’t puke on me, they don’t have baths here!”

“No, no I’m not going to puke,” Beau said quickly, doing her best not to look Jester in the eye and hoping against hope that Jester would not notice the burning rush of heat to her cheeks or the way her voice jumped a whole octave when she spoke. “You just, uh, caught me by surprise.”

“Oh, sorry,” Jester said. “When I was a little kid, sometimes when I had a really bad day, my dad would pick me up and carry me to bed and read me a story until I fell asleep. I thought, you know, that you’ve had a really bad day today, so maybe I could do that for you?”

A knock came at the door, and Jester gently deposited Beau on the bed. “Get out of your gross clothes,” she said, “and I’ll get that water from Yasha and then come back and tuck you in, okay?” Jester didn’t wait for a response before darting off to answer the door.

Beau’s clothes were absolutely disgusting, soaked through with old and new sweat and spattered in whiskey and blood, but Beau still hesitated. She really, really didn’t want to be topless around Jester right now. It wouldn’t be so bad if she was wearing anything under her tunic, but, well, her boobs didn’t exactly need much support, and she’d had bigger things to worry about the past few days than wrapping her chest. As quickly as possible, Beau shimmied out of her trousers – at least she had underwear on – hurriedly peeled the layers from her torso, and pulled the covers up to her neck just as Jester returned, holding a glass of water. She handed it to Beau, and Beau slowly sipped at it.

“Okay, bedtime story!” Jester said, clapping her hands together. “I only brought one book with me on this trip, but it’s one of my favorites. I bet you’ll really like it.”

“I hope it’s better than that raunchy one about the half-orc,” Beau said between sips. Her quip was slightly ruined by how much her voice still trembled. She let out a genuine, incredulous laugh, though, when Jester, grinning gleefully, produced _Tusk Love_ from somewhere on her person. Beau groaned dramatically, prompting Jester to swat her on the arm playfully.

“Shut up, you’re going to love it!” Jester insisted.

“Uh huh?” Beau said with a mischievous smile, and her arm shot out from beneath the blanket and snatched the book from Jester’s hands. Jester dove onto the bed to try to retrieve it, but Beau pivoted, keeping her back to Jester and taking advantage of her longer arms to keep it well out of her reach. Beau flipped to a random page began to read dramatically as Jester pawed uselessly at her forearms.

“ _His sizzling muscles and rampant manhood rampaged freely through her mind, setting every synapse alight. How was it that, even when Genevieve was not in his embrace, Oskar was still able to ravish her mind and make love to her very soul?_ Holy fuck Jester,” Beau laughed, “Maybe I judged it too soon. I should do a reading for the whole bar!”

Finally, Jester managed to crawl far enough over Beau to snatch it back from her. Beau let it go, and Jester rolled onto her back, clutching it close. She stuck out her tongue at Beau. “No bedtime story you!” she said.

“No please!” Beau begged dramatically, “anything but that! Surely you could not be so cruel! Have mercy, I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” Jester asked slyly, wiggling her eyebrows in a way that made Beau’s cheeks burn. She was once again uncomfortably aware of how naked she was, as well as how very close Jester was lying to her. She did her best to push a number of very appealing mental images out of her mind, and nodded.

“You better believe I'm going to collect on that sometime,” Jester said, before sitting up and opening the book to a different page and beginning to read aloud.

The book was exactly as ridiculous, gratuitous, and full of purple prose as Beau expected, but hearing Jester read it to her, so enthusiastic and genuine in her efforts, was one of the most enjoyable things Beau had experienced in a long time. The ridiculous, breathy character voices and overly dramatic, ridiculous sex noises combined with Jester’s intense, heartfelt readings of their declarations of love and passion felt like the most potent of healing spells to Beau’s weary soul. And if, as the impassioned readings of gratuitous fucking lulled Beau slowly to sleep, she took some creative liberties with who she imagined actually engaging in those acts, then that was a guilty secret Beau was happy to keep.

Unfortunately, she did not rest easy. The lumpy mattress of the tavern was less comfortable even than the hard dirt of the open road, but in some ways it was a blessing to sleep only in fits and starts; the bursts of wakefulness provided a brief relief from the familiar phantoms of her nightmares. Each time she jerked awake, Jester was there, whispering soft words of comfort and offering gentle caresses. She did not drive the storm from Beau’s mind, but she at least offered a few moments of shelter and peace, and that was more than Beau had experienced since her withdrawal had started. Finally, in the early hours of the morning, Beau fell asleep and dreamed no more.

Eventually, Beau drifted awake, slowly returning to consciousness like a diver drifting back to the surface. The first thing she noticed was how sore she was, and how uncomfortable the mattress was beneath her. Next, she noticed her headache – no longer pounding, but still unpleasant and persistent. Her stomach felt sour but not roiling, and if she was sweating, it was only from the warmth of the woman lying next to her.

Beau opened her eyes and found herself almost nose to nose with Jester, still sleeping soundly as the morning light of the sun spilled in through the grimy window of their tiny rented room. It took all of Beau’s self-control to not freak out when she realized that Jester’s arm was resting lazily on her, her blue fingers laying limply against Beau’s naked chest. For a moment, Beau wondered if they’d had a drunken hookup, but no, she remembered the evening before now. She remembered it all.

Beau wanted a drink. It had been so long. She could imagine the flavor of the whiskey so clearly that her mouth watered. She’d done a good job last night; surely she could reward herself with a couple sips? Beau grimaced, trying to focus. She’d been down that road before, she had to remember that; she knew she couldn’t handle moderation. She fought down the urge to sneak out of the room and down the stairs to the bar, and instead reached over to wake Jester up.

She hesitated for a long moment as she stared at Jester’s sleeping face. It was strange to see someone normally so full of energy so completely calm. She looked… innocent, maybe? It wasn’t quite the right word, but Beau didn’t know if there were words for what she felt as she watched Jester sleep, occasionally punctuating her deep, even breaths with a snuffling snore that caused her nose to crinkle adorably. Beau wanted to lay that way forever, to drink in all the beautiful details of her friend’s face that she would never dare look so closely at while she was awake. But if she wouldn’t do it while Jester was awake, it didn’t feel okay to do it while she slept.

Beau gently shook Jester awake. It didn’t take long; Jester stretched dramatically with an enormous yawn before settling back down to wakefulness. She gave Beau a warm, lazy smile.

“Good morning Beau.”

“Morning. How did you, uh, how did you sleep?”

“Oh, pretty well!” Jester sat up on the edge of the bed and stretched again, grimacing slightly. “The lumps really fucked up my back though. I hope we don’t have to stay here again.”

“Then we should probably go wake up the others and get about our business,” Beau said. She sat up as well, forgetting that she was still mostly naked. She flinched and quickly crossed her arms over her chest, but Jester didn’t react to the sight of her at all, instead looking her dead in the eye. Irritatingly, Beau almost felt disappointed.

“Beau,” Jester asked softly, “are you okay? Not like, ‘okay’ okay, but okay enough?”

Beau smiled and meant it. “I’m getting there, Jester,” she said. “Thanks for, you know, dealing with me last night. It, um, it helped.”

Jester returned Beau’s smile and gave her a hug. Beau went rigid for a moment, before patting Jester awkwardly on the shoulder and saying, “I appreciate the hug and all, but I really need to get dressed.”

* * *

It didn’t actually take very long to locate Ophelia Mardoon’s estate. Jester had been ready to start asking people off the street at random, but Molly had gotten a strange look in his eye and claimed to have a hunch. His hunch had led them to the very edge of the place where, Jester hoped, she would be able to solve the problem of the Jagentoths once and for all.

She turned to her friends. They looked at her expectantly. “Okay, so I haven’t seen Ophelia Mardoon in kind of a long time, but she should definitely recognize me,” Jester said. “She and my dad used to be regular business partners, so I’m really hoping that she’ll just be like, ‘Oh hi it’s great to see you again, I totally can’t wait to start working with you again, I will totally kill the Jagentoths for you,’ but we should probably be ready for it to be a little bit more complicated than that.”

“Complicated how?” Beau asked. “Like, did your dad and the Mardoons have a falling out? Why don’t they work together anymore?”

“We’re, um, we’re not sure,” Jester admitted. “One day the shipments just stopped coming, and the group we sent to investigate never came back.”

“So there’s a chance that we’re all going to be murdered by Ophelia’s people as soon as we make ourselves known?” Molly asked in the same tone he might’ve used to ask about the weather.

“Well, yeah,” Jester said reluctantly, “but I’m pretty sure that isn’t what’s happening! I think some third party is interfering with our traders to keep us from working with each other! Since the Jagnetoths are trying to strongarm us into working with them, I’m betting that they’re also the ones cutting off our other options.”

Molly looked skeptical, but Beau nodded slowly. “It’d fit their style,” she said slowly. “The Mardoons and the Jagentoths are constantly trying to one-up each other. They’re business rivals in… a lot of fields.” The way Beau looked at her when she said that last part made Jester uncomfortable. She’d been trying not to think about that part.

“So we’ll give them the benefit of the doubt, but should still be prepared for them to betray us?” Yasha asked.

Jester nodded. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Yasha and Molly, do your best to seem intimidating when we’re in there. Make it seem like a really bad idea to fuck with us.” They both nodded, and Jester turned to Beau. “I know you’ve been reading a lot about this place, and that schmoozing powerful people is like, your job,” she said, “but I know a lot more about our business operations than you do. So when Ophelia wants to talk business, let me do the negotiating. Okay?”

“Okay,” Beau said. She gave Jester a comforting smile that made her feel all warm inside. “We’ve got your back.”

Jester smiled back. “Okay. Let’s go.”

The time it took to approach the front door of the manor was just long enough for Jester to begin to feel a bit of trepidation. As the guards watched them coolly, it occurred to her just how little of a backup plan she had if it turned out that Ophelia really wasn’t an ally. She was pretty sure they’d be able to cut their way free alive as long as she didn’t take them completely by surprise, but then they would have no allies against the Jagentoths and no better deal to take back to the Gentleman. The thought made Jester’s stomach twist into a knot. She very deliberately set it aside. Doubt had never done her any good before, and if her instincts got her into trouble, they always got her back out again. She touched the symbol of the Traveler on her belt in a brief moment of silent prayer. Then they were at the stairs at the base of the patio, and a guard was barring her way, demanding to know her business.

“Oh hi! Go tell Ophelia that the Sapphire has traveled all the way from Zadash to talk to her about resuming our business.” Jester gave the guard her best winning smile as she sensed her friends taking up intimidating positions around her. “Get us some refreshments too – we’ve had a long trip.”

A few minutes later, they were escorted into a plush sitting room. A mousy-looking human man in servant’s livery stared at their group wide-eyed before tentatively offering to take their coats. Jester waved him away imperiously, vaguely surprised by his reaction. She would’ve thought that anyone working for such a prominent crime family would’ve been used to seeing much weirder people than them. Maybe he was new.

Jester made herself comfortable on the decadently soft velvet couch while Molly and Yasha took up flanking positions, hands on weapons as they surveyed the room. Beau made to join them, but Jester took her hand and pulled her down onto the couch next to her. Beau looked at her in surprise, so Jester whispered in her ear, “You’re still a good talker, you know. I’d love your help actually getting her to start negotiating with us.”

Servants arrived with a platter of charcuterie, two goblets, and two decanters, one full of a dark red wine and the other of water. Molly made an annoyed huffing sound at being excluded from the refreshments. Yasha remained impassive. As the servants retreated, Jester murmured an incantation under her breath, casting out a thin mist of magic to cling to and illuminate – to her eyes only, of course – any poisons in the area. Their food was clean. The swords of the guards were not. Jester made a mental note to immobilize them immediately if a fight broke out. She quickly made up plates of snacks and passed them out to her friends and poured herself a glass of water. She glanced over and noticed Beau staring at the wine like it was a particularly beautiful viper coiling to strike. Jester filled the other glass with water and pressed it into Beau’s hands, then grabbed the wine decanter and tossed it to Molly. He raised it in a toast before taking a long swig. He tossed it to Yasha just as Ophelia Mardoon entered the room.

The dark grey tiefling woman took in the whole of the room in one sweeping glance, smirking slightly as her eyes found Yasha, who had frozen in the middle of trying to drink from the decanter. The smirk deepened as her eyes moved to Beau, whom, Jester was annoyed to realize, was staring at Ophelia openmouthed. Jester rolled her eyes; Ophelia wasn’t _that_ pretty.

Then Ophelia’s gaze moved to Jester, and her smirk became a smile. “Little Sapphire,” she said, “you are not so little anymore. It has been far too long.”

“It’s really good to see you, Ophelia,” Jester said. “You should really come visit more.”

“I’ve been expecting a messenger from the Gentleman for some time now,” Ophelia said, seating herself on a loveseat opposite Jester, “but I will admit, I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Are we the first messengers you’ve received, then?” Beau asked, her face once again composed.

Ophelia turned towards Beau, raising an eyebrow imperiously. “Is it your habit to interrupt your betters, little girl?”

Beau chuckled slightly. “You have no idea.”

“This is Beau,” Jester said. “She’s my partner in this venture.”

The corner of Ophelia’s lip curled slightly. “Is she now?” she said, all but purring the words out as her eyes raked over Beau. Jester smiled internally when Beau did not rise to the bait and instead continued to regard Ophelia with an even, arrogant expression. She thought Ophelia might’ve been impressed too, because she addressed Beau when she said, “Yes, you are the first messengers I’ve received from the Gentleman since our last shipment to him was seized. I take it none of the messengers we sent to him made it either.”

“Not a single one,” Jester said. “We want to get trade going again. Could you maybe tell us a little about what’s been going on?”

“Well, certain of our rivals have decided that they should have control of all illicit trade along the Glory Run Road,” Ophelia said delicately. “Ionos Jagentoth has a particularly effective group of slavers called the Iron Shepherds. At his request, they’ve been moonlighting as bandits, sacking my shipments, killing or kidnapping my people. It’s been rather vexing.”

“That’s actually pretty lucky,” Jester said, “because that was the other thing we wanted to talk to you about. How would you feel about squashing out the Jagentoths?”

Ophelia looked genuinely surprised. “When last I spoke to the Gentleman, he was unwilling to oppose them directly. You are Myriad, after all, and the Jagentoths have Myriad connections. Are you telling me that his position has changed?”

“That is what I am telling you,” Jester said, deciding in the moment to be as truthful as possible. “They killed some of our people and are attempting to strongarm us. That can’t be allowed to stand.”

“Then I take it you have additional forces with you. How many people did the Gentleman commit to this endeavor?”

Jester hesitated, unable to come up with a sustainable, convincing lie. Beau jumped in to cover for her.

“We were sent up as sort of a scouting party, actually,” Beau said smoothly. “Since we weren’t sure of the situation, he wanted us to get some intel and either report back once we knew more, or else make a more… precise strike, if we thought there was an opportunity.”

“That is… reasonable, but unfortunate,” Ophelia said with a huff. “Ionos will be visiting the Iron Shepherds at their base tomorrow morning to review their operations. It’s as vulnerable as he’s likely to be for some time, but he’ll still be heavily guarded, in addition to the normal defenses of the Sour Nest. No matter. Tell the Gentleman that I am eager to resume our operations, and that I will be delighted to form a plan with him to eradicate the Jagentoths and their lapdogs once and for all.”

“Wait, how heavily guarded?” Jester asked. “Because we’re all pretty powerful. We could totally sneak in and kill him and the Iron Shepherds while their pants are down.”

Ophelia laughed. “Respectfully,” she said in a tone that was anything but, “you could be the four greatest assassins in Exandria and you wouldn’t be able to do this thing. Two dozen guards, plus the Iron Shepherds themselves, all of whom are exceptional combatants, plus the half dozen elite bodyguards who never let Ionos leave their sight? That is pure madness.”

“They never let him out of their sight? Not even when he’s pooping?” Jester asked.

“Not even then.”

“Huh.”

“Perhaps it would be possible if you could lend us some reinforcements,” Beau suggested.

“If I had the personnel for this mission, it would already be underway,” Ophelia said. “You four are hardly going to tip the balance. No, better to return to the Gentleman with news of the situation. If he can send at least a dozen decent fighters, preferably two dozen, then we should be able to sweep out the Iron Shepherds. We can hatch a plan for the Jagentoths once our trade routes are restored.”

Ophelia stood, and Jester realized that their audience was at an end. For now, anyway; maybe once she got a look at the Sour Nest, she and her friends could come up with a plan that would convince her to lend some support.

“Thank you very much, Ophelia,” she said.

“It was my pleasure,” Ophelia said, smiling. “Just one more question, Sapphire. Has there been any change in the situation in Zadash? Once we take the Sour Nest, we will have a substantial surplus of slaves to liquidate. It would be much easier and more profitable if we could make use of your infrastructure again.”

“Nope no change, sorry,” Jester said, hearing the unnatural highness and shakiness in her tone even as she said it. “Slavery is still being cracked down on super duper hard!”

“Hmm,” Ophelia said. “Well, we’ll see what your father thinks. Thank you for your time, Sapphire.”

Jester was pretty sure she managed to keep her composure as they exited Ophelia’s manor and made their way back towards the road. She was pretty sure she was only screaming internally. That had not gone the way she wanted at all. She obviously couldn’t go back to her dad and plot an attack with him; there was no way he would be willing to go to war with the Jagentoths! And even if she could come up with a workable plan, she couldn’t afford to bring Ophelia’s forces to bear either; she was not going to liberate a slaver’s stronghold only to hand them over to a different slaver.

It wasn’t until they’d reached the tree line that Jester realized she was hyperventilating. She stopped walking and leaned against a nearby trunk, struggling to slow her breathing. Yasha stepped in front of her, her face full of concern.

“Jester, are you okay?” she asked quietly.

Jester gave her a shaky smile and let out an even shakier sigh. “Oh you know,” she said, “I was just hoping this would be a little bit easier is all.”

“It will be worth it, though, won’t it?” Yasha prompted her. “To help the people that have been enslaved? To keep slavery out of Zadash?”

“Will it?” Jester asked. Even if everything went perfectly, would her dad tell Ophelia no when she asked about selling him slaves again? She thought he would. She hoped he would. But would he?

“We’ve got company,” Beau called out, her voice cautious but not alarmed. “Hey, come out where we can see you! No sudden movements!”

Jester turned around to see the mousy-looking man slowly stepping out of the trees, hands over his head. Her eyes widened. “You work for Ophelia! You must really want to take our coats!”

The man smiled slightly. When he spoke, his voice seemed like a complete mismatch with his appearance, and Jester wondered how she hadn’t noticed that the first time. It was a rich, deep voice, steeped in a thick drawl. “I’m just here to talk,” he said. “I think we can help each other.”

“Help each other how?” Beau asked, her voice full of suspicion.

“Well, I didn’t get the impression that you intended on following Ms. Mardoon’s advice about packing up and heading home. As it happens, I’d also like to see the Jagentoths fall and the Iron Shepherds laid waste. Might be that, together, we can make that happen.” The man looked over to Molly and smiled. “I suspect that any friends of Mollymauk Tealeaf and Yasha Nydoorin are more than they appear.”

Molly furrowed his brow. “Have we met?” he asked. “I’m afraid I don’t remember you.”

The man chuckled, “Oh yeah, forgot about that.” He waved a hand across his face, and his entire form seemed to shift like mist, settling into a completely different shape. Jester’s breath hitched and her mouth hung open as she gazed upon the hottest guy she’d ever seen.

He was half orcish, his skin a vibrant, two-tone green. His figure was trim, slim-waisted and wide-shouldered, with a handsome, chiseled face. His high cheekbones looked sharp enough to murder someone with, and his eyes were deep and intense. A couple of handsome scars crisscrossed his face, and his dark hair had a single streak of distinguished grey running through it.

He looked to Jester, who slammed her mouth shut like a vice, blushing furiously. He offered her a half bow. “My name is Fjord,” he said, “and it would be my pleasure to help you put an end to the Iron Shepherds. I’m hoping your friends can vouch for my bona fides.”

Molly looked delighted. “Fjord!” he exclaimed, “Wonderful to see you again! Glad that you made it out of Trostenwald in one piece.”

“Likewise,” Fjord said. “That was a nasty bit of business.”

Molly turned to Jester. “Fjord helped me and Yasha fight a fiend in Trostenwald, and he helped us escape when the townsfolk decided that we were its accomplices. We wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for him. If he’s willing to help us, then we’d be lucky to have him.” He turned back towards Fjord. “Are Caleb and Nott with you?” he asked.

Fjord shook his head. “They fled south after we split. I think they wanted to get out of the Empire. I still had business here, though, so I had to bid them adieu.”

“Shame. They’d be useful right now.”

“Hold up a minute,” Beau said, looking annoyed. “It’s cool that you know each other and are friends are whatever, but why do you want to help us?”

“Perhaps we can walk and talk?” Fjord suggested. “I’ve got a campsite set up near the Sour Nest that I’ve been doing reconnaissance from. It’d be a good place for us to make some plans from. Does that sound good to you, Sapphire?”

“Yeah, yeah that sounds great!” Jester said. “And you can call me Jester, by the way,” she added.

Fjord smiled at her, and she felt her stomach do a backflip. “Pleasure to meet you, Jester. Shall we?”

Jester looked to each of her friends, then back to Fjord. She nodded.

“Follow me, then,” he said, and walked into the forest, Jester hot on his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the chapter name - I just couldn't resist. I swear, chapters that end in 4 are cursed for me - this was very difficult to write, and I ended up not fitting all the content I had intended, so unless I find a few places to cut and compress, next chapter is going to be enormous. If you enjoyed it, please let me know!


	15. Recollection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings: Gore, allusion to torture, allusion to sexual violence, allusion to cannibalism. Slavers fucking suck, guys.

Jester wove through the strange trees of the Savalirwood, following the route that Fjord said would take them to his observation camp, her friends close behind her. Beau was obviously a little unhappy, but Jester thought she was trying to hide it, so she didn’t prod. Hopefully she would warm up to Fjord once he had properly explained himself. As if responding to her thoughts – and wasn’t it incredible that they had only just met and were already so in sync! – Fjord spoke.

“Right. As to that explanation I promised you,” he began. “As Yasha and Molly may or may not recall, I had traveled into the Empire to visit the Soltryce Academy, to help me understand and control latent magical powers that I had only recently discovered.”

“I didn’t think that was how wizards worked,” Beau commented, interrupting him. “From my understanding, wizard magic is entirely learned, not innate. The Cerberus Assembly doesn’t do sorcery.”

“You’re quite right,” Fjord responded pleasantly, “but I hail from Port Damali, and all I knew about the Soltryce was that it was a place to study magic, and that kind of instruction was something I desperately craved. So I made my way to Zadash and presented myself at the Hall of Erudition. The Headmaster there, Oremid Hass, was kind enough to inform me of their policy about not taking on sorcerers, although he was of the opinion that that was not what my powers were. He offered to do some tests and experiments to 'help me understand and control my powers,' but I can read a room, and I’m nobody’s fool. I got the hell outta dodge, and since I’m not dumb enough to assume that they were just gonna let that slide, I started adopting disguises wherever I went.

“After that, I wasn’t really sure where to go, but I didn’t exactly have anything waiting for me back home, so I just wandered for a while. Spent a good bit of time in Berleben; I joined up with an actual sorcerer there and helped her with a few of her problems. It felt good to have reliable company on the road. I’d been missing that.” Fjord turned to Yasha. “I wish Trostenwald hadn’t broken so bad. I feel like that could’ve really been the start of something,” he said.

Yasha shrugged. “Maybe it still could be,” she said. “We’re here now, aren’t we?”

“True,” Fjord said with a smile. He continued his story. “Anyway, eventually myself and my new friend, Calianna, decided to make our way to Shady Creek Run. She thought we might find something about a cult I was helping her take down. Before we made it, though, we were ambushed while we slept.”

“By the Iron Shephards?” Jester asked, enraptured.

“Exactly,” said Fjord. “They beat me bloody, robbed me blind, and chained me up in their cart. I don’t know what happened to Cali – she wasn’t in chains with me, nor was she in the bowels of the Sour Nest where they deposited me, and I haven’t been able to find her since I’ve been out.”

“How did you escape?” asked Jester.

“Well, it wasn’t on my own. I don’t know how long I was down there, exactly, but after one day of particularly enthusiastic torture, I was slumped against my cage bars when I felt a hand press against me. I looked up to see a man’s face – a kind face, and not one I’d seen before. He healed my wounds and told me that everything would be okay, that they were here to get me out. It was only then that I noticed he wasn’t alone. There were others with him, as motley a crew as I’d ever seen, going cage to cage. I thought maybe they were looking for specific people first, since it didn’t look like they had keys and would probably draw a lot of attention as soon as they started trying to open cages, so I told the man what it was I could do, and that I would help them. So when the time came, mine was one of the cages they opened first, and I did my best to help them resist the crushing tide of slavers that came running to stop us.

“It was a bloodbath. My rescuers were powerful, but we were pinned down underground, and the Iron Shepherds were powerful too, and knew their own dungeons better than us. As the battle turned against us, the man who freed me told me to run, to hide, to escape and live to fight another day. It pained me to do it, but I knew we were losing. So I hid in a corner and watched as the brave people who came to rescue us were killed or captured and put in cages themselves. Then I changed my face, walked right out with the slavers, and slipped away through the front gate.

“Ever since, I’ve been moving around the town, using my skills to infiltrate different places of power to try to learn everything I can about the people I’m trying to defeat. I’ve also spent plenty of time scoping out the Sour Nest, trying to figure out how I can succeed where a whole team failed.”

Fjord looked around at their group and smiled. “But now it seems I’ve been blessed with a qualified team as well. I do not even know the name of the man who saved my life, or the people who followed him, but I will give everything I have to see them freed, to bring holy hell down on the people who tortured me, who did gods know what to my friend.” He stopped, and Jester nearly ran into him. He stepped to the side and gestured grandly to the empty forest. “We’re here.”

Jester opened her mouth to ask what he was talking about, but then her eyes locked onto the dull rope ladder hanging down from a nearby tree. It blended in almost perfectly with the bark of the tree and the low foliage of the forest floor. “You have a tree house!?” she asked Fjord excitedly.

“More of a tree lean-to, really,” Fjord said, “but it’s high enough up to have a decent view of the Sour Nest and the road leading to it, and they’d have to have damn good eyesight to spot me up there. You can go up and look for yourselves, if you like, though, uh, maybe not all at once. I made it just for me, so I don’t think more than two at a time would be a good idea.”

“Me first, then!” Jester said excitedly and started up the ladder.

“I’ll take a look too,” Molly said, and Jester felt the ladder shift beneath her as Molly put his weight on it.

As Jester ascended through the branches, she heard Fjord’s voice drift up after her. “Why don’t I brief y’all on exactly who we’re up against,” he said to Beau and Yasha. Then Jester left their conversation behind, her view of her friends swallowed by a sheet of leaves.

It was like another world in the trees, one with neither ground nor sky, both blotted out by thick coats of leaves and branches. The ashen grey-purple of the foliage of the Savalirwood only made it feel more unearthly, and Jester was almost surprised when she reached the top of the ladder; she had half-expected to climb forever through this strange and beautiful world.

Fjord had not been kidding about it being small. A couple of moderately thick logs had been lashed together to form a platform that almost looked like a raft, which had in turn been lashed to the trunk of the tree and to a very thick, still living branch. Jester lay flat on her tummy and wiggled forward like an inchworm until she was fully on the platform. She scooted to the right to leave space for Molly – it would be a very tight squeeze.

Once she was settled, Jester craned her neck and stared out from the platform, looking for the Sour Nest. It took her a little longer than she had expected, but eventually she caught sight of an ugly stone fortress in the distance, mostly obscured by trees. She wondered how Fjord was able to do any useful surveillance from here.

She felt a weight settle onto the platform next to her as Mollymauk arrived. “Well, this is cozy, isn’t it?” he said, sounding slightly strained as he wiggled forward and situated himself on the platform.

“Don’t bump me, it’s a long way down,” Jester said.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Molly said. He paused for a long moment as he stared out over the Savalirwood. Jester let the silence stand – Molly had the air of someone with something to say.

And eventually, he did.

“Beau’s still sober,” he said.

Jester smiled. “Mhmm.”

“You get that that doesn’t make what you did okay, right?” Molly said, his tone perfectly casual.

“Doesn’t it?” Jester raised an eyebrow at him. “You were right about there being consequences I wasn’t ready for, but she’s through the worst of it, and she forgave me, and she’s probably not going to get herself killed doing something stupid now, and she’s actually processing shit instead of hiding from it, and that’s got to make her happier eventually, right?”

“If you jump to conclusions like that when you run your shit in Zadash, I don’t know how you’re still alive,” Molly said, his carefully casual tone growing slightly colder, slightly shakier. Jester realized suddenly how incredibly angry he was.

“She’s only been voluntarily sober for one day, Jester,” Molly continued, “and I imagine that’s only because you did something to guilt or coerce her last night while you were alone together. You think that’s going to let her deal with her shit? She’s going to resent you for every moment that she makes herself suffer in sobriety, and ongoing resentment isn’t fucking conducive to growing as a person.” He shook his head, his face twisted into something between exasperation and disgust. “You can’t make people be better, Jester. They have to want it for themselves.”

 _Yes I can!_ Jester wanted to shout. She had to be able to. The memory of the last time she saw her dad bubbled up in her mind, the cold unconcern in his voice as he discussed his “new merchandise.” He had to be better than that, and if he wasn’t there yet, Jester would make him be better.

Jester forced her mind away from thoughts of her dad and refocused on Molly, searching for words to defend herself with. “If Beau really resented me, she wouldn’t have forgiven me!” she said. “Maybe she knows she just needed a push.”

Molly snorted. “Didn’t Beau only forgive you because she thought you wouldn’t do it again?”

“Well, I’d only do it again if it was going to have a good outcome!”

“You think Beau being more alert today was the outcome?” Molly let out a short, mirthless laugh. “How the fuck do you see so much and know so little?”

“Well, how the fuck am I supposed to tell if something I do is good or bad except by seeing what happens when I do it?” Jester shot back angrily.

“I don’t know who you’re talking to, but it sure isn’t me, because that’s not what I fucking said,” Molly responded, no longer attempting to hide his anger.

Jester opened her mouth to spit something else at him, but stopped herself and took a deep breath instead. “It wasn’t what you said at all, was it?” she said quietly.

All the emotion seemed to drain from Molly. “Forget I said anything,” he said tiredly. “I’m not usually one to tell people what to do about shit. Just, I don’t know, make sure you’re looking at the big picture. Doesn’t seem like anything good will happen if you don’t, especially in your line of work.”

They were quiet for awhile after that, staring out into the leaves. Jester thought about how she had approached Beau the night before, and the days before that. She thought about consequences, and about the big picture. She hadn’t actually coerced Beau into maintaining sobriety – she’d genuinely just been trying to support her friend. It occurred to her suddenly that, for most of that evening, she had been sure Beau wouldn’t stay sober. Would she still feel so justified in her actions if that had been the case? Or if Beau hadn’t forgiven her? That thought chilled her deep. She knew that Beau hadn't forgiven her because she thought Jester’s actions were justified.

“Why did Beau forgive me?” Jester wondered aloud. “I didn’t do anything to deserve it.”

Molly shrugged. “Maybe she just likes and trusts you and wanted to believe that you were worthy of that. More fool her.”

Jester recoiled, the words stabbing her in the heart. “You don’t think I’m trustworthy? You don’t like me?”

“Oh, I like you plenty,” Molly said, “and I trust everyone to do what’s in their own best interest. That’s about all you can expect from people like us. Maybe you’re different, but given your position and upbringing, I doubt it. If you are different, you won’t stay that way. You don’t live in a world that rewards that kind of thing.”

“You care about Yasha,” Jester pointed out, “even when it’s not in your best interest.”

Molly smiled ruefully. “More fool me, then.”

“I didn’t coerce her, you know. She chose to give it a try. I didn’t think she would.”

Molly’s smile deepened a bit. “Maybe it's Beau who's different, then. Maybe she sees clearly when she looks at you.”

That made Jester feel warm inside.

They were quiet again, but it was more companionable, more comfortable. Eventually, Molly broke it. “You know,” he said playfully, “you never did apologize for stealing my mezcal. Don’t you want me to forgive you too? It was really very special to me.”

Jester laughed. “Sure it was. What is something that's actually special to you, Molly?” she asked. “I don’t think you’ve ever told me anything true about yourself.”

Molly’s eyes widened in a decent approximation of offended outrage. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“You lie for a living, and also you’re, like, really bad at it,” Jester said dismissively. “You only know how to fool people who don’t know you.”

“Oh, and you know me?”

“Well I’d like to!” Jester said. “I feel like I should know my friends, you know?”

Molly went quiet, his expression serious. Finally, he said, “Alright, fine. You want to know something true about me? I’m only two years old.”

Jester laughed. “Bullshit!” she said, snorting. “But your poker face is better! You’re already learning how to be a better liar.”

Molly’s face didn’t change. He just stared at Jester quietly, and she felt the smile melt off of her own face. He wasn’t lying.

“Two years ago, I was born in a shallow grave, choking on dirt and trying to claw my way to the surface,” Molly said. “The circus found me, took me in. Eventually I started remembering enough to function as a person, but whoever had this body before me, they’re gone.”

“Holy shit,” Jester said softly. “Molly, I’m so sorry.”

“What for?” he asked. “I don’t want those memories, I don’t want this, this Lucien asshole, or whatever. I’m me. I’m no one else, and I don’t want to be anyone else. He left behind a great body for me, but I don’t owe him shit. He’s done using it.”

Jester’s eyes widened. “Cree doesn’t know, does she?”

“Nope. And I’m not going to tell her. I don’t want her grief or anger or pity, and I sure as fuck don’t want her trying to bring him back.” Molly sighed and stared out over the forest. “I don’t like this place,” he said. “Lucien knew this place, knew Shady Creek Run. I keep getting flashes of his thoughts and his knowledge butting in. He knew where Ophelia Mardoon lived. I was afraid she would know him, would mistake me for him. I want to get out of here as soon as possible, and I want to get very far away.”

“Farther than Zadash?” Jester asked hesitantly.

“Much farther, preferably,” Molly said. “There’s nothing for me there – nothing I want, anyway. My future there ends with me stabbed in an alley or wasting away in a prison cell, and those aren’t how I want to waste my time. When the circus came crashing down, when I teamed up with Fjord and the others, I thought maybe – well, it doesn’t really matter, does it? It didn’t work out. If we were smart, me and Yasha would split as soon as possible, head somewhere very far away, like Xhorhas.”

“Are you saying you’re not smart, Molly?” Jester teased.

Molly went to give her a good-natured shove before remembering their precarious perch. “Obviously, since I let myself get attached to you assholes. Well, Beau’s more of an asshole than you, but still.” He let out a long sigh. “More fool me.”

“I won’t let you die in an alley or in jail,” Jester promised. “I’ll make sure you have a bigger and better life than that.”

“Hmm.” Molly scratched a horn pensively. “What is it you want out of your life, Jester? Do you want to be like your dad?”

There were so many things Jester wanted out of life. So many places she wanted to see, so many things to experience, so many moments to savor, and uncomfortably few of them were anywhere near what her life looked like now. Jester pushed those thoughts aside. “I want my dad not to be a slaver,” she said, "Everything else can wait." Then she added, blushing a bit, “I also maybe want to kiss Fjord a little bit.”

Molly’s eyes went as wide as dinner plates and Jester very suddenly wanted to hide from him. “Oh my god,” he whispered softly, as if barely daring to believe it, “are you having your first crush?”

“No!” Jester said indignantly, “I’ve had crushes before! I’ve looked at guys and thought ‘oh he’s so handsome and cool’ and then they opened their mouths and then it was over! But this time he only got hotter when he said something! That has to mean something, right?”

“I do relationships different than you, Jester, so I don’t know if my advice is worth that much,” Molly said, “but usually if you look at someone and want to kiss them, that means something.”

“Oh my god!” Jester said as a realization hit her like a sack of bricks. “You know more about boys than me, and you’re two! You’re only two! I’ve been waiting for the perfect boy for like twenty years and you’ve been having threesomes basically the whole time you’ve been alive!”

Molly gave a self-satisfied smirk. “I don’t know how old this body is; I’ve gotta get the most out of it while I can.”

“I’m just really nervous, though!” Jester said, wringing her hands. “I mean, I’ve been waiting for the perfect one, you know? And it could be him, it really could be – most of my books talk about love at first sight and stuff, and this feels kinda like what they say that feels like? But what if he doesn’t like me? Or, or, what if he’s a really bad kisser?”

Molly put a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t I head down and send him up?” he offered. “Let you get some time alone with him to try some things out?”

Jester’s mind half-froze at the thought. As it struggled to reboot, Molly scooted back over the edge of the platform, fishing carefully with his feet for the top rung of the rope ladder. Jester’s brain, unable to decide whether to be excited or terrified, instead latched onto a completely random thought that she blurted out immediately.

“You just gave me a super melodramatic speech about how everyone is self-interested garbage, and you’re two!” she practically yelled. “You’re, like, the world’s edgiest toddler!”

Molly found his footing and slipped all the way over the edge and onto the ladder. He paused and cocked his head at her, the rest of his body gone from Jester’s view. Then, he very deliberately removed a hand from the ladder and flipped her off. He held the hand high above his head as he descended, until eventually the tip of his middle finger vanished from Jester’s sight, sinking into the sea of forest below.

Then Jester was alone among the leaves. She breathed in slowly, calming the tizzy in her head. It didn’t take long – she’d always been good at controlling her emotions when she needed to. So it was deeply frustrating that her heart hadn’t gotten on board with the rest of her emotions and was still beating like a drum when Fjord climbed onto the platform.

He smiled at her as he crawled in, and Jester was suddenly incredibly aware of how little space there really was up here, and how much they’d be touching as he settled in.

“Enjoying the view?” Fjord asked as he lay down, his shoulder brushing against hers and sending a wave of warm shivers through her whole body. Part of her wanted to draw away – her reaction seemed too much, too overwhelming, but there was nowhere to go.

“Oh yeah, yeah it’s really pretty!” Jester said, the pitch of her voice oscillating wildly as she glanced around the forest, seeing nothing and looking everywhere but at Fjord. “It’s, um, really high up!”

“Gotta get high to get a good view,” Fjord said. A gentle breeze blew through, ruffling Jester’s hair. She chanced a glance at Fjord and saw that his eyes were closed, a smile on his face as the wind blew over him. He let out a contented sigh and opened his eyes. “It reminds me a bit of being up in the crow’s nest, though I guess that’s probably not a very peaceful thought for some people. You afraid of heights, Jester?”

“No!” Jester said emphatically. “You’ve been in the crow’s nest a lot? Are you a sailor?”

“I was,” Fjord said. “I was the quartermaster of the _Tide’s Breath_ for a few good years. I rather miss it, to be honest with you. It was nice to have people, to have a purpose. You ever been on the sea?”

“Oh, all the time. I’m actually originally from the Menagerie Coast,” Jester said, “but I was born in Nicodranas, not Port Damali, and I never got to go up to the crow’s nest.”

“How’s that?” Fjord asked.

Jester shrugged. “Too visible. Lot’s of people would’ve seen me.”

Fjord raised an eyebrow and leaned away from her slightly. “Jester, were you a stowaway?” he said in mock scandal.

“Maaaaaybe,” Jester said coyly, leaning in to bump his shoulder with hers. “But that’s not a story you get to hear until you get to know me better.”

In a novel, this would be the part where Fjord responded with something witty and flirty, something like, “I know a great way for us to start getting to know each other,” and then leaned over to kiss her. Instead, he chuckled slightly and went back to staring into the forest.

Jester felt very awkward all of a sudden. To fill the silence, she said, “How do you watch the Sour Nest from here anyway? I can barely see it through the trees.”

“Oh, yeah! It’s not that visible to the naked eye, is it?” Fjord rummaged with his belt for a minute before removing an old brass spyglass.

“Ooh, did you get that when you were a quartermaster?” Jester asked curiously, looking at the clever device. She hadn’t seen one in years, and she’d never quite managed to steal one to examine closely.

“No, that one was tragically lost at sea.” Fjord turned it over in his fingers pensively. “This was a gift from Cali. She bought it off a travelling antique dealer after our first big mission together. Said I should have something to remind me of home.”

“You must be really worried about her,” Jester said, hoping that the sudden surge of jealousy in her chest wasn’t audible in her voice.

“Yeah.” Fjord kept fiddling with the spyglass, his expression downcast. “Obviously I’m glad she wasn’t getting tortured with me, but it’s hard not knowing what became of her. Not knowing if she’s dead or alive, or where she is now.”

“I’m sure you’ll find her,” Jester offered lamely. What a stupid thing to say.

Fjord just shrugged. He extended the spyglass and raised it to his eye, apparently happy to let the conversation move on. “There’s leaves blocking a lot of the fort from sight,” Fjord said, “and for that I’ve had to get closer than is comfortable while scouting, but with the spyglass, I’ve got an excellent view of the front gates.”

Fjord frowned suddenly. “The gates are opening!” he said, surprised.

“Let me see!” Jester reached for the spyglass, but Fjord batted her hand away.

“We can’t afford to miss this!” he hissed. “It’s a… it’s a cart. A slave cart, like what they brought me in. Enchanted to look like it’s just carrying produce.” He lowered the spyglass and turned towards Jester. “They’re sending a shipment out.”

Jester’s heart plummeted. It had to be the Jagentoth’s first shipment to Zadash. She could not let that cart arrive. “We have to stop it,” she said.

Fjord nodded. “I’d bet a hundred gold that some of the people who rescued me are in the cart. We have to hurry.”

As fast as they could, they descended the rope ladder, and Jester called for her friends to arm up.

* * *

Fjord’s projection of the cart’s trajectory had been spot on, but Beau wondered if it would matter. She counted nine armed people escorting the cart as it made its slow way down the rough forest road toward their hiding place. One of them, the half-orc woman driving the cart, Fjord had identified as one of the Iron Shepherds. Her name was Dwelma, he said, and that she was a spellcaster, and that she was cruel. Even with the element of surprise, Beau had doubts about how well a group of five would handle a group of nine, especially since she knew nothing of Fjord’s combat abilities. As to her own, well. Beau had been practicing, but this would be her first real fight in a long time. She clutched Thed’s dagger tightly in her grip and wished for a drink to settle her nerves.

Instead she took in a slow, deep breath, held it, and then let it out just as slowly. She glanced first to her left, where Molly crouched, scimitars pressed against his hips, ready to draw blood and ignite. He flashed her a cocky grin, which she did her best to return. Then she looked to her right, at Yasha. Yasha held her greatsword ready but relaxed and seemed to be engaged in some deep breathing of her own. She didn’t appear to notice Beau’s glance. Farther up, Beau knew, Jester was probably vibrating with anticipation for the battle to begin. She had wanted to be at Jester’s side for the battle, to help keep her safe, but they had arrived in the wrong order and had been forced to take cover as quickly as possible when the cart arrived.

Slowly, the cart inched past Molly’s position, then Beau’s. She breathed in, then out, deep and quiet, and braced herself. Then it drew even with Yasha. Yasha glanced around the tree confirming its location. She raised a hand and snapped her fingers.

Molly’s blades burst into bright white light and Beau spun around the tree and rushed towards the road, as quickly and quietly as possible. She suspected that if she’d been alone she would’ve taken them by surprise, but the slavers heard the rustling of her companions and turned towards the noise. One of them looked up and let out a yell of alarm. Then Beau was upon them, and so were her friends.

The man’s yell turned into a choking gurgle as Beau planted Thed’s dagger squarely in his throat. He didn’t even get to the axe hanging from his belt – instead, he flailed at her wildly with empty hands as he collapsed, his life leaking out of him like a punctured wineskin. Beau withdrew the dagger and turned to her right just in time to duck as a human woman aimed a violent hacking blow at her neck. Beau spun beneath the axe and stabbed at her chest, but the blade glanced off the woman’s scale mail. Too close now for the axe, the woman attempted to backhand her, but Beau brought one arm up into a block that deflected the punch. The slaver took a step back, and Beau whipped her leg high into an axe kick, bringing her heel down onto the woman’s collarbone, which gave way with a sickening crack. The woman howled in pain as Beau leaned forward, pushing more of her weight into the shattered bone and using her leverage to push her opponent into the ground. As she hit the ground, the slaver swung her axe again, this time at the foot Beau was pressing into her. Beau jumped, pushing off from the woman and eliciting another howl. She cleared the axe stroke easily and contorted her body, placing her weight squarely behind her knee as she landed, driving it into the woman’s face. With a sound like an enormous egg cracking, the slaver’s head exploded beneath Beau’s knee, splattering her with bits of brain and skull.

Beau stood up and glanced around for a new target. She saw one of the slavers attempting to retreat, back to her, and moved to stab him, but before she could get there an enormous, glowing, bright pink lollypop materialized in the air and took his head off with a single swipe. As the corpse crumbled, the lollypop darted away through the air to begin rotating around Jester. Beau stared at her, entranced, forgetting the battle raging around her.

Jester was all but glowing with power. As Beau watched, she casually knocked aside a blow aimed at her with her sickle and reached out with her empty hand, booping the slaver on the nose. The slaver screamed in agony as their face blackened and their nose sloughed completely off before the lollypop swung through their chest and put them out of their misery. Jester turned towards Beau, smiling brightly, and Beau thought that there must be no more beautiful sight in all the world. Then Jester’s face twisted into a cry of warning, and Beau turned just in time to leap out of the way of a strike from the man who had snuck up behind her. The blow that would’ve taken off her head instead only clipped her back, sending a burst of clarifying pain through her body. She readied herself to counterattack, but before she could, the tip of a greatsword exploded out of the man’s chest, spraying Beau with blood. With a feral cry, Yasha withdrew her blade, letting the man’s corpse collapse at her feet.

As quickly as it had begun, the violence came to an end. Beau glanced around as the battle lulled. All of her friends still stood, though Molly had a nasty-looking gash on his thigh. All the slavers who had been on the ground were dead or dying, lying in the dirt. Only one remained. From atop the cart, Dwelma surveyed the situation, her eyes widening as she realized that the odds were now five on one.

Dwelma let a quarterstaff fall from her hands and raised them over her head. “I’m no fool,” she rasped. “I yield.”

Fjord stepped forward, spattered in blood that was not his own. Beau frowned as she realized he wasn’t carrying a weapon. Was he an unarmed fighter?

“Dwelma, long time no see!” Fjord called, his voice polite and even. “Why don’t you come down from there and get on your knees?”

“I’m not going to let you execute me, chattel,” Dwelma spat back. “If you plan to kill me, come take your best shot.”

“There’s no need for that kind of hostility,” Fjord responded reasonably. “I only intend to be sure that you don’t run off on us. If you answer the questions that I and my compatriots have for you, I’m sure we can have you on your merry way before sundown. I don’t know about you, but I would think that preferable to a shallow grave.”

Hesitantly, Dwelman stepped down from the cart and knelt before Fjord, hands on her head. “Ask your questions, then,” she spat.

“One main one, really,” Fjord said. “When you captured me, I had a friend with me, Calianna. What became of her?”

Dwelma gave a humorless laugh. “That dragon bitch? She was a nasty fucker. Wouldn’t stay still. Lorenzo had to put his glaive through her heart.”

Fjord stiffened, and Dwelma leaned forward, smiling cruelly. “We tossed her body on a butcher’s cart,” she said. “He said he’d never had dragon meat before. It’s a shame, really. I know plenty of people who would’ve paid through the nose for a pretty, exotic thing like her, if you catch my dr-“

Fjord swiped his right hand through the air violently, blue-green light bursting from his closed fist. Beau stiffened in shock as a curved falchion materialized in his hand, covered in barnacles and adorned with a glowing yellow eye set into the cross guard. It sent a spray of seawater and blood through the air as it reached the end of its arc. Dwelma’s head plopped to the ground, her decapitated corpse collapsing next to it.

Fjord turned towards the group, angry tears visible in the corners of his eyes. When he spoke, however, his voice was quite steady. “I hope no one had any objection to that.”

Beau shook her head.

“I would have killed her if you hadn’t,” Yasha said.

“The eye’s new,” Molly commented.

Fjord glanced down at his blade. “Oh, yeah. It’s, uh, kind of a long story.” He opened his hand and dropped his sword. As it left his grasp, the falchion turned to seawater, falling to the forest floor with a splash.

“Let’s get the people out of the cart,” Fjord said. He climbed up the side of the cart and vanished into the illusion.

Beau glanced over at Jester and saw that she was staring after Fjord with undisguised adoration. Beau brutally crushed the faint seeds of jealousy she felt growing in her. Fjord’s handling of the slavers and his dedication to the enslaved were objectively admirable. If Jester was going to fall for some rando they met on the road, she could do a lot worse. Jester and Yasha followed Fjord into the cart while Beau and Molly kept watch.

In short order, people began emerging from the cart. They were ragged and fearful, and the marks of torture were clear upon their bodies, but for the most part they looked relatively healthy. Beau supposed it was bad business for slaves to be in shitty shape when they were to be sold. After nine people of varying ages and backgrounds had emerged, Jester and Yasha reappeared, followed by Fjord, who was supporting an older, somewhat emaciated human man with dark skin and wild white hair. His eyes were cloudy, and as Beau observed the deliberateness and care of his movements, she realized he was blind.

The man smiled at Fjord and gave him a hug. “Good to see that you got busy once you got clear,” he said, his voice deep and smooth and silky.

“Shakaste, are the others still in the Nest?” Fjord asked. “Have they already been shipped out?”

Shakaste shook his head. “Far as I know, they’re still in there. I don’t care to guess how long that’ll last, though.”

Fjord looked up as Beau and Molly approached them. “Everyone, this is Shakaste,” he said. “He was part of the group that helped me escape. His help will be invaluable in taking down the rest of the Iron Shephards.”

Shakaste pursed his lips. “I don’t mean to be a downer, Fjord, but unless you can afford to wait a day or so, I won’t be much help. They killed the Duchess when they took me prisoner, and they were not kind enough to give me any of the incense I need to resummon her before they shoved me in that cart. I need to get back to Shady Creek and resupply. Until I have her back, I can’t fight shit unless I can touch it with my staff.” Shakaste swore loudly, suddenly. “Bastards took that, too. Can’t wait around on replacing that, though – I need that to walk.”

“I’m sure one of our newly freed friends can help you find a temporary replacement,” Fjord said. “Maybe you could help guide them safely back to town and wait there to receive the rest of the prisoners once we free them? I don’t think we can afford to wait a whole day to make our move now – the chances of discovery are too high.”

“I need a day to recover my spells, actually,” Jester said. “I’m not, like, totally tapped, but I wanted to go in at full power, ‘cause it sounds like it’s going to be pretty tough in there.”

“I’m with Fjord, actually,” Beau said. “I think the element of surprise is too important to risk. If we hadn’t had it now, that could’ve gone really bad for us.”

“Why don’t we take an hour?” Fjord suggested. “I can recover some of my magic in that time, and Mollymauk can get bandaged up, and we can come up with a plan.”

Jester smiled. “I think I have one already, actually. Fjord, you know how you can disguise yourself? I can do that too. And we have one of their carts now…”

“A cart that just so happens to have a permanent illusion over it!” Fjord exclaimed. “We can go right through the front door!”

Yasha smiled. “I like this plan,” she said.

They bid Shakaste and the rest of the newly freed prisoners farewell. Fjord sat down to meditate, recovering his magic, and Yasha began bandaging Molly’s thigh wound. Beau leaned against the wagon and did her best to relax a bit. It’d probably be her last chance for awhile. A few moments later, Jester joined her.

“What are you thinking about, Beau?” she asked.

Beau shrugged. “Just wondering if I’ll see them in my dreams now,” she said, nodding towards the bodies of the slavers she’d killed.

“Why would they be in your dreams?” Jester asked, laughing slightly. “That’s a pretty fucked up fetish, Beau.”

Beau didn’t laugh. “I see those two White Peacocks I killed in my dreams sometimes,” she said. “I know they were probably shitty people, and I couldn’t just let them kill you, but I wonder if they had people who loved them, you know? I wonder who misses them.” She looked at Jester, feeling suddenly fragile. She searched for something, some kind of reassurance in Jester’s eyes. “Those were the first two people I ever killed, Jester. Was it hard for you, your first time? Does it get easier.”

Jester looked back at her sadly. “I’ve been around death and violence since I was a little kid, Beau” she said. “I made my first kill when I was eight, and I never lost any sleep over it, or any of the others since, really.” She sighed and looked away. “A lot of the heroes in the stories are bothered by all the killing they have to do to beat the bad guys, you know. I guess I’m not much of a hero.”

Beau tentatively put a hand on Jester’s shoulder and gave her a comforting squeeze. “I think you’re pretty heroic, Jester.”

Jester leaned into Beau’s touch. “I’m glad you think so. But look at the kind of people we have to work with. It’s not like we’re steering clear of slavers by killing the Jagentoths and getting with the Mardoons again – they’re slavers too. We’re just keeping our hands cleaner.”

There wasn’t really any rebuttal to that. “Why do you care so much?” Beau wondered. Jester gave her a hurt look. “I mean, obviously slavers are scum of the earth,” she clarified quickly, “but you just said that you were around awful shit all the time as a kid. Like, how did you not wind up desensitized to it?”

Jester was quiet for a long time, staring off into space. Beau kept her hand on her shoulder, kept rubbing it gently with her thumb, trying to keep her grounded. Eventually, Jester spoke. She didn’t look at Beau, and she spoke quietly, her tone almost completely flat.

“According to my dad, I was born in Nicodranas, but I don’t remember it at all. My first memories are of hiding in the hold of the pirate ship that my dad had been press ganged onto. He said that when the pirates boarded his ship, he hid me in the cargo hold, defected to their crew, then brought me over secretly when he helped them loot his old ship. The pirates weren’t good people. He said that if they found me, they’d kill me, so I had to stay hidden all the time, until he could get us away from them.”

Jester wrinkled her nose. “The ship was called the _Winking Lady_ , but I called it the _Stinking Lady_. It smelled like shit and blood all the time. Some of that was because sailors are usually pretty stinky, but a lot of it was because they kept slaves in the hold. Whenever they took a ship, they enslaved anyone that looked strong and that they didn’t trust to join their crew. They were the only people I could talk to for a long time. I think a lot of them thought I was a hallucination or something.”

“You said that you were staying on Darktow by yourself by the time you were four,” Beau said as gently as she could. “How long were you hiding in the guts of a slave ship?”

“About three years,” Jester said, sniffling a little. Beau hadn’t noticed her start crying. “It was so awful, Beau. I only saw my dad at nights, and only for a little bit, and I was never safe. And those poor people, trapped down there, they all had lives and loved ones that they were just ripped from. And they were beaten and brutalized and broken down and destroyed. I know how awful it felt to be alone and scared and trapped, but it must have been so much worse for all of them.

“My dad is a good man, Beau. I know you might not believe it, but he is. If he had been alone, he wouldn’t have joined the pirates. He would’ve fought to the death against them or ended up in one of those cages himself. But he had me with him, and he wanted me to be safe more than he wanted to be a good man. It’s my fault he became a slaver.”

“Jester, that’s not true,” Beau said. “You didn’t make his choices for him, and besides, you were a baby!”

“Just listen, okay!” Jester snapped, sniffling louder. “He got more involved with slaving so that the pirates would trust him enough to let him spend more time on Darktow, and so he could make enough money to buy a house there – a house for me, so that I could stop hiding below decks! And Beau, I hated it there. I never saw my dad at all when he was at sea, and I didn’t even have the prisoners to talk to anymore! All I had were whatever books or paints or whatever that my dad could afford to buy me. I started sneaking out when I was six.

“That’s how I met the Traveler, by the way. He was my age back then, and he was a friend I could play pranks with and have fun with and talk to, and he showed me cool magic tricks I could use to keep from getting caught.

“When my dad finally got run out of Darktow by his enemies, we had nowhere to go. He hadn’t been an honest merchant in almost a decade, Beau, and he had so many enemies. He went to the Myriad, and they offered to let him take over their smuggling operation in Zadash, get us faraway from all his old enemies. It took me so long to get him to let go of slavery. The Myriad had hired him for that skill specifically, and it was really dangerous trying to fool them into thinking he couldn’t do it anymore. But I got him to do it, and then everything was okay! But now they want him to do it again, and he can’t, he just can’t! I can’t let my dad be a monster because of me, I can’t do it, Beau, because I hate slavers and I want to kill every last one of them but I can’t kill my dad, not when he became a monster to save me!”

Jester broke off with a sob, and Beau pulled her into a tight hug. “Hey, hey, it’s okay Jester, I’m here,” she whispered softly to her as she gently rubbed her back. “We’ll figure it out, I promise. You’re the most amazing, powerful, clever person I’ve ever met. There is nothing you can’t do, and I will be with you every step of the way, okay?”

It wasn’t exactly what Beau wanted to say. It was beyond appalling that Jester should feel so responsible for the Gentleman’s crimes and moral failings. But Beau knew what it was like to be completely disillusioned with a father, and if Jester wanted to cling to the belief that the Gentleman was better than he was for a while longer, Beau was not going to deny her that. So she kept whispering to her, kept reassuring her, kept making promises that she would rather die than break, until Jester’s tears dried. She didn’t stop clinging to Beau, though, and so they sat like that until a freshly bandaged Molly walked up to them.

“It’s time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out of all of that, the conversation between Molly and Jester was easily the hardest thing to write. I imagine that the Molly of this timeline is a good bit more cynical than Molly Prime. Hope you guys liked it.


	16. Parallels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I outlined this chapter, I was worried it would be too short. Anyway, please enjoy the longest chapter in the fic so far!  
> Content Warning: Lots of very graphic violence, references to torture

Beau lay in the back of the cart, hiding beneath its illusion with Yasha and Molly. Sitting in the front, Fjord drove the cart towards the gates of the Sour Nest, magically disguised as Dwelma. Jester walked alongside the cart, disguised as one of the slain guards, staggering dramatically all over the place as she did her best impression of someone gravely wounded. Her melodramatic moans of agony and shouted proclamations of her own imminent death brought a smile to Beau’s face.

Really, the plan was pretty simple. Fjord would talk them in through the gate and learn the location of Lorenzo. At his signal, the rest of them would burst from the cart, kill everyone nearby, and rush to Lorenzo’s location so that they could put him down before the rest of the Iron Shepherds could rally. After that, it was just a matter of clearing out the rest of the leaderless rabble and laying a trap for Ionos when he arrived for his meeting the next day. Super simple. Super doable. Not at all suicidal.

Beau did her best to fix what Fjord had told her about Lorenzo firmly in her mind. Supposedly, he was a normal human with a talent for the glaive, but Fjord had said that he always felt like there was something lurking beneath, some secret that he held in reserve. Beau vowed to herself to be ready for anything.

“Hold!” someone shouted. Beau presumed it was whoever was guarding the fortress gate. The cart ground to a stop. “Dwelma?” the voice asked, confused. “The fuck are you doing back here? Where’s the rest of your guard?”

“We ran into some bold fucking bandits,” Fjord called back in a disturbingly good imitation of Dwelma’s rasp. “Maybe they work for the Mardoons or some shit, I don’t know, but they were well-armed and well-trained.”

“It was terrible!” Jester added, not even attempting to disguise her voice. “They were so brutal and awful and cool, and we’re the only survivors! They’re, um, still out there, so we need to get our dirty stupid slaves inside so they don’t take them away from us.”

There was a long pause.

“Do you fucking hear me?” Fjord added as the silence started to stretch uncomfortably. “Let us in right fucking now, or I swear to the gods that you’ll be in a cell by morning.”

Beau breathed a sigh of relief as the silence was broken by the clink of heavy chains and the groan of old wood. Then the cart was in motion again, passing through the gate and into the Sour Nest.

The voice spoke again, quieter and closer now. “Lorenzo must be told that there are bold enemies around. I’ll send someone immediately.”

“And leave the gate undermanned? Piss on that,” Fjord responded. “I’ll tell him myself. Where’d he get off to?”

“Still in the dungeon, working on those firbolgs.”

“Perfect. That’s all I needed – let’s go.”

Molly looked to Beau and smiled. That was the signal.

They exploded from the cart bellowing war cries, Beau’s own raw yell almost entirely drowned out by Yasha’s powerful, resonating roar.

To call the battle one-sided would be an understatement. Some of the guards weren’t even holding their weapons – they’d set them down to open the gates. It was a slaughter. In mere moments, the courtyard was drenched in blood, leaking from wounds opened by greatsword and scimitar and dagger and falchion and sickle. The head of the lead guard had compacted in on itself when Jester had pointed at her, the sound of a bell’s clanging filling the air.

Beau stared down at the mangled mess of bodies as she mechanically wiped the blood from Thed’s dagger. There were only a few more dead than there had been when they attacked the cart in the woods, but this felt worse, somehow. The attack on the road might’ve been an ambush, but here their targets had thought that they were among friends. Safe. They had been too surprised to even mount a defense.

“Beau! You okay?” Jester called. Her magical disguise had faded, and there was a concerned look on her face.

Beau continued to stare at the corpses for a moment longer before wrenching her gaze up. She glanced up at the cart and thought of the compact, brutal iron cages that she knew lay beneath the illusory exterior. She remembered the emaciated, tortured bodies of the people freed from those cages, the way they had shaken and trembled at the slightest touch. Beau’s resolve hardened.

She looked back to Jester. “I’m good,” she said, her voice even. “Let’s fucking do this.”

Fjord murmured something under his breath. Beau couldn’t exactly make out what was said, but she felt a chill deep in her bones, and the sound resonated up through her, ringing in her ears and making her shiver. It lingered in the air longer than was natural. As she watched, droplets of water condensed out of the air around him, forming a mist that quickly wrapped tight about him as it coalesced into icy armor that bristled with cruel spikes.

Molly whistled. “Now that is a trick,” he said, sounding impressed.

Fjord gave him a grim smile from beneath his newly formed helm. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” Jester said. She turned and strode confidently across the courtyard towards the door to the interior. Yasha followed close on her heels, her muscular arms rippling with power as she held her enormous greatsword at the ready. Fjord went next, seawater dripping from his falchion and freezing mist trailing from his armor. Molly gave Beau a wink before following, twirling his scimitars dramatically, brilliant white energy crackling off of them. Beau stared down at her bare fists and Thed’s dagger. Feeling somewhat outclassed, Beau took a deep breath and walked after them.

At first, their passage through the halls of the fortress went almost comically unopposed. A single half-naked slaver stumbled out of a door into the midst of their group, completely oblivious of their presence until it was far too late. Molly’s scimitars dispatched him before he could so much as register his surprise. The next one they met was better prepared, though, and she managed to let out a cry of alarm before Beau was able to wrestle a dagger into her eye.

“This was never going to stay quiet for long,” Yasha reassured her, but Beau still felt a sour tang of guilt. Now they were on a clock. Now they had to get to Lorenzo before he dug in to resist them.

“Right. The trapdoor to the dungeons is just past this door, in the dining room,” Fjord said. “The room’s wide open, but the trapdoor is locked pretty tight. It’ll take a bit to break through, so half of us may need to fend attackers off while the other half go to work on it.”

“Think there’ll be anybody waiting for us in there?” Beau asked.

“It’s not a mealtime and they only just raised the alarm, so I doubt it,” Fjord said confidently.

“Then let’s go!” Jester exclaimed. She rushed through the door, Beau and the others close behind her. They emerged into a decent sized, well-lit dining room…

… that was the opposite of empty.

Five people sat around the table, fully armored and with weapons close to hand. They grabbed them and stood to face Jester’s headlong rush, upending the table in their haste, which appeared to have been hosting some sort of card game. Coins clinked as they bounced off the stone floor, and Beau swore loudly as she recognized three of them as Iron Shepherds based on the descriptions Fjord had given them that morning.

The half-elf woman with the pixie cut had to be Ruzza, whom Fjord had said was some sort of spellcaster. The nasty looking halfling man with the bow must be Protto. And that left the towering human woman, nearly as imposing as Yasha and carrying a sword just as massive. That would be Wohn. The other two, at least, were more typical rabble.

Beau turned towards Fjord incredulously. “Empty?” she half asked, half accused. What were the odds that the other three surviving Shepherds would be between them and Lorenzo?

“Well how was I supposed to know about their afternoon poker game?” Fjord half whispered defensively. “Their only hobby I knew about was torturing people!”

“Hello!” Jester called out as her hands described an elaborate pattern through the air, conjuring her spectral lollypop. “Would any of you like to surrender before we get started? Please say no.”

Wohd threw back her head and let out a wild war cry. She charged, surging forward and unleashing a brutal blow that looked like it would cleave Jester cleanly in two.

Yasha leapt forward, interposing herself between Wohd and Jester, the flat of her sword meeting the edge of Wohd’s and sending it skidding away, though not entirely bloodlessly. It nicked Yasha’s hip on its way towards the stone floor. Yasha twitched her sword from a defensive posture into an aggressive one, trading the flat for the edge as she shoved it towards Wohd’s face, but Wohd stepped back, dragging her own blade up into an overhead parry, deflecting the bulk of Yasha’s attack. The blade scraped past the edge of her face, and blood began to trickle from Wohd’s slashed earlobe.

For a moment, the rest of the room had stood still, watching the women battle. Beau pulled her attention away from the duel and broke that spell, diving for the nearest slaver. His eyes widened as he jerked just out of the way of Beau’s vicious left hook, freeing his shortsword from his belt and taking a retaliatory stab. Beau pivoted, flowing around the blow and hissing as the blade grazed her back. She drove Thed’s dagger towards his stomach, wrapping her arm around the slaver’s as she did so to prevent him from withdrawing from his failed thrust and defending himself. Instead, he dropped to a knee, leveraging the force through his entangled arm and robbing her stab of any force. Beau drew her left hand to her cheek, then twisted at the hips, releasing a knife hand strike that uncoiled down the length of the slaver’s still extended arm and struck him in the side of the neck. She felt the edge of her hand sink deep into his flesh, pinching the artery and briefly cutting off the flow of blood to his brain. His arm went limp in Beau’s grasp as he blacked out, and before he could recover, Beau pulled her right arm free and drove Thed’s dagger through his temple.

In the few seconds that Beau had struggled with the slaver, the rest of the room had also erupted into violence. Molly had joined Yasha’s battle against Wohd, who was slowly retreating before their onslaught, circling as she did to avoid being cornered. Even with the extra pressure, the battle looked like a deadlock, with all three participants bleeding from numerous minor and moderate wounds. Neither Yasha nor Wohd appeared to be slowing, but Molly looked distinctly worse for wear. His bandaged wound had torn open anew, and one of his eyes was swollen shut, blood pouring from a slash through his eyebrow down his face and dripping from his chin.

Jester still stood near the door, her face a mask of concentration as her hands seemed to spasm through intricate patterns in the air and she chanted words of power so quickly and breathlessly that Beau feared she might pass out. Across the room, her lollipop struck again and again at Ruzza, who appeared to be focusing just as intensely as Jester as she ducked and dodged and launched spell after spell in retaliation.

One of Jester’s chants rose to a crescendo, and a cloud of tiny, adorable spectral unicorns began to materialize around her. Suddenly, her words cut off in a howl of pain as an arrow sprouted from her chest, right above her collarbone, and the swarm vanished as Jester staggered, half-falling to the ground. Beau stared at her in shock, then traced the path of the arrow back through the air. Standing a ways behind the other slavers, Protto grimaced slightly and drew another arrow from his quiver.

Beau yelled, loud and angry, and hurled Thed’s dagger at him. Protto turned towards the sound of her voice. His eyes went wide, and he dove desperately out of the way. The dagger carved a long slash along his cheek as he fell out of its path and towards the floor. Swearing, Beau rushed towards him, but her path was cut off as the remaining slaver bolted past her, the wind of his passage ruffling Beau’s hair, and blood spraying from the stump where his hand had once been onto Beau’s face.

Fjord stepped up next to Beau, his eyes angry as his quarry retreated. He extended his empty hand deliberately. A growl rumbled low in his throat, and his hand began to glow.

“Eldritch blast!” he roared, and two beams of sea green light erupted from his palm towards the fleeing slaver. One struck him in the back, one in the head, and both punched clean through armor, cloth, flesh, and bone, leaving two perfectly round, sizzling holes all the way through his body. The man’s corpse collapsed.

In spite of everything, Beau felt an incredulous laugh break free from her lips. She turned towards Fjord. “The hell was that?” she asked.

Fjord looked back at her, confused. “It was an Eldritch Blast,” he said.

“You shout the names of your spells when you cast them?” Beau laughed again. “That’s pretty fucking nerdy, man.”

“Well,” Fjord said defensively, “what else would I shout when I – duck!”

Beau whipped her head down immediately, not a moment too soon as an arrow hissed through the empty air where her eye had been only a moment before. She looked to Fjord. “Help me kill that bastard!” she demanded. It was good that he was shooting at her instead of Jester, but it would be better if he wasn’t shooting at all.

“Gladly!”

They charged across the room towards Protto. Protto’s eyes widened, and he began to retreat before them. He knocked two arrows simultaneously, twisting his arm so that his bow lay parallel to the floor, and let them fly. One of the arrow’s glanced off of Fjord’s icy armor, taking a shoulder spike with it as it went. Beau twisted to avoid the other one, but she miscalculated the trajectory. The arrow struck her in the side of the chest, hitting like a punch to the lungs and half knocking her breath from her. The other half escaped in Beau’s cry of pain as the arrowhead ground to a stop against one of her ribs.

Beau staggered and nearly fell. Through sheer force of will, she stayed on her feet and kept charging, her eyes still fixed on Protto’s. Real fear appeared on his face as he continued to retreat, returning his bow to a normal position. Once more, he knocked and loosed, the arrow hurtling towards Fjord.

In that moment, Beau felt suddenly aware of her surroundings in a way she had never felt before. It was as if she could feel the trajectory of the arrow, could feel Fjord ducking the wrong way. It was going to take him right between the eyes. With speed, precision, and confidence that Beau didn’t know she had, she twisted her body, ignoring the grinding pain of the arrow still in her as her left hand reached across her torso and plucked the flying arrow from the air. She kept twisting, her whole body coiling like a spring being wound as it absorbed the momentum of the arrow. The friction of the rough wooden shaft burned her palm as the missile came to a stop, the tip a fraction of an inch from the bridge of Fjord’s nose.

“Holy shit!” Fjord yelled, his voice jumping an octave as he staggered back a step. He stared at Beau in astonishment. “You didn’t tell me you could do that!”

“It’s a recent development!” Beau yelled back. A sense of giddy, frenetic lightness filled her, as did a feeling of invincible certainty. Her body moved almost of its own accord, untwisting from its contortion and back into a relaxed, neutral posture. She cast the arrow aside casually. Carelessly.

At this point, Protto had backed so far up that he’d begun to circle back around the room, bringing Ruzza and Wohd back into Beau’s field of view. If Protto had been scared before, now he was terrified.

Beau raised a hand and beckoned him closer. “Come on Protto!” she called. “Is that the best you can do? Fucking kill me already, you pathetic fuck!”

Protto loosed another arrow, this one aimed for Beau’s throat, and again Beau’s hand wrapped around it. She twisted to her right, absorbing its force. This time, Beau didn’t let it dissipate. Instead, she shifted her weight and let her body uncoiled like a striking serpent, and she hurled the arrow at Ruzza, who was so focused on her spells and dodging Jester’s lollipop that she didn’t even notice the missile until it buried itself in her armpit.

Ruzza’s spell cut off as she let out a gurgling cry. She doubled over in pain, and Beau thought she could see blood pooling in her mouth. “Get Lorenzo!” she yelled, twisting her neck to look over her shoulder at Protto. “Tell him we need –“

Jester’s lollipop sheared through Ruzza’s neck, cutting off her sentence and her head.

Protto turned and ran. Fjord swore loudly and rushed after him, launching two more beams of energy. Protto ducked and darted from side to side, and both beams sizzled harmlessly past him. He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, just before a bolt of glittering pink light struck him in the side. It exploded, searing his skin and coating him in magical sparkles. Protto staggered but kept his feet. He kept running, but with a distinct, staggering limp.

Beau looked over towards Jester, from whom the bolt had originated, and her jaw dropped in alarm. Jester was standing resolutely, her finger still extended towards Protto, but her whole body was shaking. Her skin was taut and drawn, and there was a grey cast to it that made Jester look like she had one foot in the grave. Beau pivoted away from Protto and rushed towards Jester.

As Beau approached, Jester turned towards her and smiled weakly. “Hey Beau,” she said, her voice dry and cracking. Her smile vanished as her eyes locked onto the arrow still sticking out of Beau’s chest. “You’re injured!”

Beau shook her head. “It’s nothing, really, are you – aghhhh!” Beau screamed in pain as Jester grabbed the arrow and ripped it out, quickly pressing a hand to the gaping wound left behind and sending a surge of burning warmth into it that quickly mended the flesh and halted the bleeding.

Across the room, Protto drew even with Wohd. Beyond her was the heavy wooden trapdoor controlling access to the basement. As Protto darted for it, Molly darted for him, swinging one of his gleaming scimitars at Protto’s ankles and slicing deep into the muscle. Protto howled in agony as he staggered and nearly fell, hopping forward just far enough to reach the trapdoor.

In that moment, as Molly overextended and lost his balance, Wohd struck. She brought her greatsword down in an enormous overhead cleave that took Molly squarely in the side of his stomach. At the last moment, he jerked away as hard as he could, just enough to avoid being cleft cleanly in twain. Instead, the tip of Wohd’s blade ripped him open from hip to hip. Molly hit the ground hard, sliding away from Wohd on a floor slicked with his own blood.

Yasha let out a cry of anguish. “Molly!” she yelled, reaching for him, momentarily forgetting her own immediate danger. Wohd swung her sword up to strike at Yasha’s exposed flank. Beau broke into a run, dashing desperately towards Yasha, Jester on her heels with a spell taking shape behind her lips. Their charge was hopeless – they were too far away.

But Fjord wasn’t. His headlong rush in pursuit of Protto had nearly brought him level with Wohd. Now Beau saw him shift his weight, pushing off of one foot and diving towards Yasha. His leap carried him into the space between Yasha and Wohd and he twisted in the air, face turning towards Yasha as he interposed himself like a shield between her and the descending greatsword.

The blade bit into Fjord’s icy armor, slicing through it like butter. Just as it made contact with his flesh, however, the sundered remains of the armor exploded in a blast of freezing mist and cutting shards, halting the blade and sending Wohd staggering backwards, momentarily blinded. Fjord hit the ground hard and rolled, hopping back to his feet all but uninjured, falchion at the ready.

“Stop Protto!” he barked as Beau and Jester drew even with him, gesturing towards the now open trapdoor. Beau could hear the sound of labored breathing and clumsy stumbling rising up from the passage beneath, quickly getting fainter and farther away. Fjord extended his free hand towards Beau, and she realized with surprise that he was holding Thed’s dagger. “You’ll need that.”

Beau took it. “We’re not gonna abandon you!” she insisted. “She’ll kill you!” Cree would call her a sentimental fool for worrying about the safety of someone she’d only met that morning, but Beau didn’t care. She would not let this man lay down his life for her.

Fjord gave Wohd an appraising look as she finished clearing the frost from her eyes. “She is welcome to try,” he said with an almost sinister grin. For a moment, his own eyes seemed to darken, and shadows cast on the floor of the room by the flickering torchlight began to shift. They converged on Wohd, rising up her legs and wrapping around her like the inky tentacles of some cephalopodan monstrosity from deep beneath the Lucidian. They didn’t appear to restrain her, but they certainly seemed to unsettle her, and in that moment of uncertainty, Fjord shifted, sliding around to place her back to a wall and himself between her and the path to the trapdoor. “Go.”

Yasha pulled Molly to his feet, the barest trace of light fading from her fingers. Molly’s eyes were open and alert, and he seemed to be at least partially supporting his own weight, but to Beau’s eyes, the enormous gash in his midriff did not look at all closed. Beau hesitated for half a second, but Jester was pushing at her, prodding her to go immediately. Feeling sick, she rushed over to help Yasha with Molly, and they hurried past Fjord and down into the dungeons beneath the Sour Nest.

There was no sign of Protto in the small, dank stone room at the bottom of the stairs. Beau frowned. There should’ve at least been a blood trail; she wondered how he was hiding it. As soon as they reached the room, Jester pressed both her hands to Molly’s side. The familiar green overlay appeared and began to glow incredibly brightly, far brighter than Beau had ever seen before. Molly through back his head and howled in agony. Beau gritted her teeth and hissed sympathetically; she remembered the pain she’d felt when Jester closed the wound she’d received from the phase spider.

After a few moments, the glow faded and Jester withdrew her hands, grimacing. Beau could see why. Molly’s wound was no longer open, which was something, but it was barely healed over, fragile new skin that looked ready to tear at a moment’s notice.

“I’m sorry Molly,” Jester said. “If I give you any more, I won’t have anything left to use against Lorenzo.”

“You should’ve saved some for yourself,” Beau said, suddenly angry. In the dim light, it was harder to spot the pallor that had fallen over Jester, but it was still there.

Jester gave a reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m fine, Beau.”

“Bullshit!” Beau responded. “What the fuck did Ruzza do to you?”

“Oh you know,” Jester said lightly, shrugging. “She said a few hurtful things.”

“Jester –“

“I’m serious, okay?” Jester snapped, irritation flashing across her face. “She cast a few spells that made me hear voices whispering painful things to me, except they were also physically painful.”

There was a pause. Jester stared at Beau defiantly, her eyes daring her to challenge her. Beau’s throat felt dry and tense. She wanted to grab Jester by the shoulders and _make_ her take care of her own injuries, but how was she supposed to do that? The magic had been used; there were no takebacks.

Before the tense silence could get too awkward, Molly spoke up. “Well, thanks for the assist,” he said, his voice cracked and dry. He gripped his scimitars firmly, contemplating their no longer glowing blades. “Well, this isn’t going to be any fun.” He pressed the edge of each scimitar into his side.

Yasha’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. “Do not do that!” she urged, her voice quiet and intense. “You’re barely holding together as it is.”

“This is how I fight, Yasha,” Molly said in a strained voice, clearly trying to sound matter of fact. “If I don’t get these ignited again, I’m bloody useless.”

“That’s not true!” Jester protested. “You’re a great swordfighter, Molly, even if your swords are just regular for a little bit! You’re also really clever and daring, and you do a really good job! Besides, it would be really rude of you to waste all the magic I just pumped into you, right?”

Molly hesitated, staring from Yasha to Jester and back again, before eventually turning towards Beau. He quirked a questioning eyebrow at her.

“What she said,” Beau said. “Don’t die on us.”

Molly sighed. “Alright,” he said, relaxing his blades. “I can always light them up mid battle if necessary.”

They all turned towards the passage leading deeper into the dungeon.

“It sucks that he didn’t leave a trail,” Beau said. “According to Fjord, it turns into a bit of a maze down here pretty quick.” She didn’t relish the thought of wandering in these depths for long.

“We don’t need a trail,” Molly said. “I know where he is.”

“How?” Jester asked.

“When I hamstrung him, I also branded him. As long as he bears it, he can’t hide from me.”

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Yasha said quietly.

“Me neither.” Molly looked uncomfortable. “This place brings back memories. Most of them I’d rather not have, but this one is useful.”

Beau rolled her eyes. “Could you be any more cryptic? I think some of us might still be on the same page.”

Molly flipped her off. “Fuck you, Beau. But I’ll explain later, I promise.”

Beau returned the gesture. “Fuck you, Molly. I’ll hold you to that.”

Molly started down the passage. The rest of them followed.

Fjord had not been exaggerating – it really was a maze down here. What he had neglected to mention was that it was a maze of cages, not walls. Neither Fjord’s stiff, efficient explanations nor Jester’s impassioned anger had prepared Beau for the overwhelming weight of human misery that now seemed to be pressing in on her. Dozens of emaciated, tortured forms sprawled against bars, their skin already rubbed raw and torn through by the slow, unrelenting exposure to impassive iron. Some of them – maybe the newer ones? – reached through the bars towards them as they passed, begging for help, for succor, for a drink of water. Others recoiled from them; they might be new faces, dressed differently than their captors, but it was dangerous to hope for rescue, and far safer to be afraid. More still simply sat, sullen and quiet. Beau couldn’t stop from staring at their scars and wondering how long they had been tortured, what it had taken to so thoroughly destroy their spirit.

Then again, perhaps those were the smart ones. Their group could not afford to stop, could not take the time to help them now. Beau tried to remind herself that they’d be back, that once they were no longer hunting a deadly foe, they’d be back to open every single one of these cages. But that was only if they survived, wasn’t it? Beau couldn’t pretend the odds looked good – their plan had relied upon reaching Lorenzo with the element of surprise still on their side, their power fresh and unspent. Now, though, they were in a race to stop Protto from getting to him first. Each and every one of them was grievously injured, their resources were depleted, and Fjord was gone, abandoned above to the auspices of fate and whatever protection his own skill offered him against Wohd. Molly and Jester both looked a strong breeze away from death’s door. Yasha didn’t display any apparent discomfort, but whether she acted it or not, she was covered head to toe in wounds both small and not; they would take a toll on her. Maybe they would accomplish the most good if they just stopped and tried to free as many prisoners as they could before the slavers found and killed them all.

Beau’s gaze turned to Jester. Jester was staring around at the cages as they passed, her expression blank but her eyes full of swimming with furious tears. In the half light of the dungeon, it was easy to imagine her as a child, darting from hiding spot to hiding spot in the hold of a leaking ship, her only company the doomed and the damned on their way to the worst hell they would ever know. As Beau stared at Jester staring at her childhood come again, she felt a deep, cold hatred for the Gentleman crystallize in her chest. Jester could believe whatever she liked about her father; Beau knew that no parent deserving of the title would let their child go through this. On impulse, she reached out and grabbed Jester’s hand.

Jester jumped, startled, and Beau’s guts immediately turned inside out. What the fuck had she been thinking? She tried to let go before she made Jester any more uncomfortable than she already had, but before she could, Jester squeezed her hand hard, desperately, almost crushing Beau’s fingers. Beau squeezed back, trying as hard as she could to pass the kind of comfort that a thousand words couldn’t contain back to Jester through that contact, and doing her best to ignore the part of her heart that ached and longed to do so much more, to take her in her arms and whisper words of reassurance, to kiss her on the forehead and wipe the tears from her eyes.

Of course Beau would find a way to angst about her stupid adolescent crush while she walked through the greatest collection of actual suffering she’d ever seen. That was so like her. Still, she didn’t let go of Jester’s hand until Molly came to a halt, raising an arm to signal the others to follow suit.

Molly put a finger to his lips, then cupped his ear. Beau listened carefully, unsure what she was listening for. At first, all she could hear was the awful ambience of the dungeon, the moans of pain and the scraping of metal on metal and metal on flesh. But then… someone was calling out a name, over and over. Someone was calling out for Lorenzo.

Protto was just around the corner.

They rounded it cautiously, Yasha in the lead, unsure what to expect. The narrow passage opened into a proper room with two actual walls instead of collections of cages. Near the middle of the room, a discarded rag soaked through with blood lay on the ground. A few feet away lay Protto. His leg must have finally given out. His eyes were closed and his voice raw, but he kept calling out for Lorenzo, his voice ragged, wheezing that they needed help, that they were overrun, that there were intruders.

It took him a moment to notice their arrival. By the time he opened his eyes, they had fanned out around him in a loose circle. Even if his leg could somehow support him, there was nowhere to run. He was surrounded.

Protto made a grab for his bow, lying abandoned a few inches away, but Jester planted her foot on it, pinning it to the ground as he pulled at it desperately. “Where’s Lorenzo?” she asked coldly.

Protto kept yanking at the bow, harder, more desperately. “Lorenzo, please!” he screamed, louder and more desperate than ever. He tilted his head up, looking past Jester and up towards the ceiling. “Please! We’re overrun, please! Save us, save me!” His eyes widened. “Lorenzo! Lorenzo please – wait, wait!”

Slowly, languidly, as if in a dream, Beau looked up, following Protto’s gaze. She stared up at the ceiling, some ten feet above her, at the shape clinging to it, its wings slowly unfurling like the blooming of some awful rose. The thing that was Lorenzo looked down at her, his face twisting into a wicked smile as he extended a glaive towards her.

“Scatter!” Beau yelled, and she dove away from Protto as an enormous cone of freezing energy exploded from the tip of the glaive, filling the air with freezing mist as it blasted into the floor, completely engulfing Protto and much of the open space in the chamber. Beau tucked into a roll and came back to her feet unscathed. She glanced to her left and found Mollymauk, panting heavily, the edges of his coat coated in frost. Then Beau glanced to her right. No one was there.

Instead, there were three icy statues in the middle of the room. Protto still lay on the ground, frozen all the way through, his face locked in a final moment of panic. As if in a nightmare, Beau’s eyes moved inexorably to Jester and Yasha. For a moment, she was sure they were as dead as Protto. But after a moment of inspection, she realized that they were not frozen all the way through. Beneath a thick coat of ice, Jester’s eyes moved wildly, flitting this way and that. A crack appeared in the ice coating Yasha as she strained against it as hard as she could. Beau took a step forward, ready to pry them loose.

Lorenzo dropped to the floor, his momentum arrested with a single beat of his massive, leathery wings. He came to a rest atop Protto, his face cracking into powder beneath Lorenzo’s boot. Lorenzo looked at Beau and smiled cruelly.

“I understand you’ve been causing a ruckus upstairs,” he said in an accent so like Fjord’s that it made Beau do a double take. “I can respect strength, but I don’t enjoy people makin’ a mess of my operations. You’ve cost me a strong team and a good setup, and I am going to enjoy breaking you.”

Molly spat on the ground in front of him. Lorenzo charged.

Almost as smooth as if they’d practiced it, Beau and Molly split around him, Beau going left and Molly right. If they could flank him, he’d have no chance. Beau dodged a swipe of his glaive and dove for his face, dagger first. She wasn’t surprised when he knocked her aside with a backhanded block, but the agility with which he pivoted, spoiling Molly’s attempt to decapitate him from behind, stunned Beau.

Lorenzo made a series short, sharp jabs towards Molly, attempting to impale him and driving Molly onto the defensive as he hopped from foot to foot, forced back to the edge of the glaive’s reach and well out of striking distance for his scimitar. Beau attempted to slip inside Lorenzo’s guard while he was distracted, aiming a slash for a tendon beneath his arm, but Lorenzo countered by lengthening his backstroke as he withdrew from each thrust. The butt of the glaive struck Beau hard in the head, sending a shower of stars cascading across her vision. She staggered backwards.

A loud cracking sound echoed through the chamber, and Beau glanced over to see a second large crack forming in the ice encasing Yasha.

“Get her loose!” Beau shouted to Molly, then threw herself recklessly towards Lorenzo to buy him time to disengage. She ducked underneath Lorenzo’s attempt to shove her with the haft of his glaive, coming up inside his reach and unleashing a flurry of strikes with her elbows, fists, and dagger. She opened a long slash along his collarbone, but Lorenzo otherwise took her blows without so much as flinching. He reared back and headbutted her with the force of a battering ram.

Beau was able to twist her body so that his forehead collided with her chest instead of her head, but she still felt a rib give way, and the sheer force of the blow sent her sliding back nearly ten feet. She attempted to rush back inside his guard, but Lorenzo’s glaive spun into a cutting pattern so complex and quick that she couldn’t see any way through it, and she was forced to retreat before him as he slowly and deliberately approached.

Lorenzo laughed at Beau’s obvious dismay. “You’re bold, I’ll give you that,” he said, “but you’re about to learn a very hard lesson about the difference between being bold and being good. I’m ready to have some real fun.”

Lorenzo feinted at Beau’s left side. Beau saw through the maneuver and shifted her weight, making a grab for the glaive as Lorenzo’s true blow struck at her right. If she could just get the weapon away from him… Her hands grasped empty air, and she had just a moment to comprehend the double feint before the tip of the glaive pierced her side, the force of the thrust so great that it lifted Beau off the ground, leaving her hanging from the blade as she stared down at Lorenzo.

It occurred to Beau that it really should’ve hurt more as she stared dispassionately down at the stab wound. She was literally being lifted off her feet by a blade in her body. Maybe she was just all out of pain juice for the day.

Her eyes locked on Lorenzo’s. There was a dark glee there, a confident certainty that Beau was done. Beau smiled at him, the expression deranged on her face. She might be as good as dead, but she was never fucking done. Her hands grasped the haft of the glaive. If she could pull herself further down on it, she could get close enough to stab him in the neck. Even if that didn’t kill him, he’d have a hell of a time using his weapon with Beau’s body stuck halfway down it.

If her last gift to her friends could be Lorenzo’s death, Beau would call that good. She just hoped that she would be able to hold his attention long enough for Molly to finish breaking them from the ice. Her grip on the haft tightened, and she strained, beginning the slow, painful process of pulling herself further onto the blade.

Lorenzo let out a yell of shock and dismay, and with a violent shake, he dislodged Beau from his glaive, flinging her into the nearby wall. All at once, the agony of the enormous wound flooded Beau’s system, and it was all she could do not to scream. The agony robbed her muscles of strength, and she slowly slid to the floor as she stared at Lorenzo, who blinked furiously as he tried to wipe a torrent of blood from his eyes. As he did, he turned to face the person behind him.

Mollymauk Tealeaf stood proud, scimitars drawn, and stared Lorenzo down. The scimitars once again blazed with radiant light, illuminating fresh cuts on each of his biceps. “Are you going to give me the attention I deserve?” he said with a mocking smirk. “Or do I need to blind you again first?”

Beau couldn’t see Lorenzo’s face, but she heard the amusement in his voice. “If you want to be my first example so badly, I’m happy to oblige you,” he said. He twirled his glaive once and attacked.

Molly was quick. In spite of his flashy twirls and arrogant taunting, he danced around Lorenzo cautiously. His defense seemed nearly perfect, and for that Beau was thankful – she didn’t think Molly would survive even another modest injury. He just needed to keep Lorenzo busy long enough for Yasha and Jester to finish breaking free. Beau glanced over towards them. Molly had gotten a good start on freeing Yasha – the surface of the ice was now covered in a spiderweb of cracks, and she could see it bending and snapping as Yasha struggled and flexed within. She would be free in seconds.

Unfortunately, Lorenzo must’ve reached the same conclusion. As Molly darted away from yet another thrust, slipping well beyond his reach, Lorenzo pivoted back towards the center and drew back his arm to impale Yasha through the chest.

“No!” Beau and Molly screamed in unison. Beau tried to jump back to her feet, to intervene, but there was no strength in her legs, and all she managed to do was send a fresh surge of blood from her gaping wound out onto her legs and the stone floor beneath.

Molly dove towards Lorenzo, blades flailing, all caution forgotten, slashing towards Lorenzo’s side as he turned away. But Lorenzo kept turning, spinning past Yasha and completing a full revolution, his glaive exploding out to meet Molly’s charge.

There was no time for Molly to adjust, no time to dodge. The momentum of his charge carried him directly into the point of the glaive and beyond. Its tip ripped through his chest and exploded out of his back. The sound of tearing flesh was the most horrible thing Beau had ever heard. Molly’s swords clattered to the ground, the glow fading away.

For a moment, the world seemed to compress down to just Molly and Lorenzo, staring at each other from opposite ends of a polearm. Then Molly spat at him, a mouthful of blood splashing into Lorenzo’s face, which twisted into a grin. Lorenzo jerked Molly towards him and kicked him in the stomach, ripping his glaive free and sending Molly flying. He crashed to the floor like a ragdoll, bouncing along the rough stone for several feet before skidding to halt. He did not move.

A furious roar shook the room. There was a sound like glass shattering as Yasha broke free of her bindings. Tears streamed from her eyes, and Beau stared in shock as they turned pitch black. Skeletal black wings exploded from her back, and she dove at Lorenzo, screaming bloody murder.

Beau stared past Yasha, focusing on Jester. Jester’s icy coating was still mostly intact; only a few cracks had appeared in the surface. With no one to help her, it would be a long time before she could escape. Too long. Lorenzo would pick them off one by one.

Beau did not look at Molly. She did not think about Molly. She thought about what needed to change to save her friends. She needed to get back in the fight. She pulled out Thed’s dagger and started very precisely and deliberately cutting long strips of cloth from her clothes. She did not look up, did not watch as Yasha and Lorenzo struggled. She couldn’t afford to be distracted. There was only the next step. She bundled up one of the strips into a ball, which she pressed into her wound, hissing in pain as she did so. The other strip she wrapped fully around her torso, as tight as she could, trying to put pressure on the wound to keep the makeshift bandage in place. If the bleeding didn’t stop, she would not be able to go to her friends’ aid.

Next, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to will the feeling back into her legs. She didn’t force it, didn’t push it – she knew it would do no good. She simply breathed, in and out, slow and deep, and felt the ebb and flow of pain, as well as something stranger, some energy that she had never felt before. It flowed through her body like blood, and it pulsed with a comforting warmth. She could almost feel rivers of that energy flowing out from her lungs with each breath, to her head and heart and fingertips. She willed those rivers to redirect, to flow down into her legs, into her feet, into her toes, and slowly, painfully slowly, she felt feeling return to them.

Beau opened her eyes and rose to her feet. As she rose, Yasha fell, her wings gone, her thousand wounds finally taking their toll. Beau felt a surge of guilt – maybe if she had pushed harder, she would’ve been up faster, would’ve been able to help her – but she pushed it aside. The time for doubts was done; it was time to act.

Jester had nearly broken free of the ice. Beau could see her struggling even harder as Lorenzo turned and advanced on her. She wouldn’t be able to free herself in time. Beau took a deep breath, feeling the rivers of energy within her pulse. Then she opened her mouth and yelled, “Hey Lorenzo!”

As he began to turn towards her, Beau hurled Thed’s dagger at him. It spun end over end, flying straight and true towards the bridge of his nose. Lorenzo’s eyes widened, and he swept his glaive up across his face, barely deflecting it in time. The dagger bounced off a nearby wall and clattered to the ground. Beau barely registered it. Her eyes were fixed on his. “I’m not done with you, Lorenzo,” she growled.

“Oh, but I’m ready to be done with you,” Lorenzo growled back. His cockiness was gone; Yasha had done a number on him. He was covered in deep wounds that bled freely, and the tip of one wing had been severed entirely. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to hinder him as he spread his wings wide and, with a powerful flap, launched himself at Beau, his glaive extended before him like a jouster’s lance.

For a moment, Beau was back in the sewers beneath Zadash, watching a phase spider barrel towards her, her dagger gone and its fangs dripping poison. For a moment, she felt that helpless terror rise up within her, the certainty that she was about to die, lost and alone.

Beau swallowed her fear. She was not in Zadash. She was not helpless. She was not alone.

She moved deliberately, fluidly, neither fast nor slow but exactly as she needed to. As the tip of the glaive rocketed towards her chest, Beau dropped to one knee, crossing her forearms to form an X and raising them over her head, pushing the thrust off course. As the rough wooden haft scraped past her skin, she straightened her arms, crashing her wrist together with force of a vice, her forearms scissoring down onto the wood. With an almighty crack, the haft shattered, and the head of the glaive spun away, falling uselessly to the floor with a clang.

Lorenzo stared in shock at the now-useless piece of wood grasped in his hands. Before he could recover, Beau exploded up from the ground with a violent uppercut. As her fist connected with his jaw, Beau felt the strange network of energy flowing through her body pulse, and she felt something in Lorenzo pulse in response. Acting on instinct, Beau willed the energy to flow through her fist and into Lorenzo, to pinch off whatever it was within him that she had felt resonate. Then the moment passed, and Lorenzo staggered back as Beau followed through her punch and withdrew, preparing to defend herself. But Lorenzo did not immediately counterattack.

Instead, his eyes went wide and terrified, and his jaw seemed to clench. He sputtered, trying to say something, but no words would form. His wings spasmed, trying to pull him into the air and away, but they could not seem to work. Every part of Lorenzo’s body seemed to rebel against him in that moment, leaving him stunned and defenseless.

An enormous pink lollipop slammed into his side. Jester let out a blood-curdling war cry as, finally free, she charged at him, sickle flashing in the torchlight. She brought it down as hard as she could on his wing joint, severing it completely. Lorenzo roared in pain and terror, his senses seemingly coming back to him. He tried to stagger away, tried to turn and run, but there was no escape form Jester and her spectral lollipop as they unleashed blow after cutting blow into his legs and torso and wings and face.

Beau charged forward to help and jumped, a wordless yell tearing from her lips as she brought her elbow down onto the small of Lorenzo’s back with her full weight behind it. She felt the bone crunch, and Lorenzo sprawled forward, crashing onto the ground. With an almighty yell, Jester brought her sickle up over her head and swung it down, plunging the blade into the back of his skull. Lorenzo’s body jerked once, and then lay still.

Jester staggered back, leaving her weapon embedded in Lorenzo’s head. “Molly!” she screamed, and she turn and ran towards their fallen friend, Beau hot on her heels.

Jester skidded to a stop by his broken, bloody form, falling to her knees as she pressed a finger to his neck.

“Is he alive?” Beau asked quickly, desperately. “Can you save him?”

Jester swallowed. “There’s a pulse,” she said, “but Beau…”

Jester looked up at her tears welling in her eyes and spilling over, running down her face. “I’m out of magic,” she said with a sob. “There’s nothing I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea why I expected this one to be easy to write - an 8000 word fight scene is probably the most difficult thing to make interesting and meaningful you could imagine. Let me know if you think I succeeded. (Btw, for anyone worrying overmuch about Molly, take a moment to review which Archive warnings I have applied to this fic and which ones I have not)  
> Special shoutout to new regular commenter humanradiohead! Your words have been giving me lots of warm fuzzies these past few weeks, and I'm really glad you've been enjoying the story so much :)


	17. Things Found

“There’s nothing I can do.”

The words were insufficient to capture the depth of helplessness and despair that filled Jester as she stared impotently down at the unconscious, dying form of Mollymauk Tealeaf. Blood still poured from the gaping wounds in his chest, staining the hand Jester had shoved underneath his back to try to raise him into a sitting position. Her other hand cradled his head, keeping it from lolling back. If she kept him upright, it would keep the blood from pooling in his lungs, right? That would buy him some time.

Time for what? Jester was spent. Her magic would not return until she slept properly. Yasha was unconscious nearby, not in as much imminent danger as Molly but definitely unable to help. Even if she’d been conscious, Jester didn’t know how often Yasha could use that strange surge of healing magic she possessed; she’d already used it earlier to keep Molly on his feet. Maybe Fjord had something – Jester couldn’t be sure one way or the other – but he was far above them, on the other side of an absolute maze of cages, if he was even still alive.

The unfairness of it all made Jester want to scream. Her friends weren’t even supposed to be here! How could she have let them come? She had known what they were walking into, had known the kind of people they would have to face, but she had let Beau talk her into bringing them, had let herself be swayed by the idea of friendship and the desire for companionship. No wonder her dad thought she was stupid for letting people get close to her. And the price of that lesson, the one she should have learned already after so many long years of holding herself aloof, would be Molly’s life. She would have to sit there and hold him as he died, knowing that it was her fault.

Desperately, futilely, Jester tried to summon healing magic. She whispered her invocation to the Traveler, begging him to lend her more, whatever it cost. But no surge of warm magic responded to her plea, no comforting green hands wrapped around hers and guided her to just where the wound was worse. She was alone. She had failed.

Molly gave a shuddering gasp, and Jester suddenly realized that he was very warm. Burning, actually. She almost released him as the heat intensified, all but scorching her, and she stared in shock as a coat of purple and green – was that lichen? It was something fungusy – grew over his wounds. The wetness of a punctured lung was gone from his rattling breath, and Jester watched as the lichen shriveled and fell away, revealing mended skin in place of gaping wounds. It was new, fragile skin, to be sure, paper-thin and likely to tear if he so much as breathed wrong, but in that instant Molly passed from the threshold of death’s door to a stable, fragile unconsciousness.

Jester looked up to see her own shock mirrored in Beau’s face. How was this possible?

“Did you…?” Jester started to ask, her voice trailing off, unable to wrap her mind around this miracle.

Beau shook her head, her face pale from surprise and probably blood loss. “I thought you…” she said, her voice raspy and drawn.

A new voice spoke, deep and quiet, and so very tired. “If you need any more healing, just say the word. But, uh, if you could get me out of here first, I’d probably be a little more useful.”

Jester turned towards the source of the words. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Beau doing the same. Leaning against the bars of a nearby cage was a firbolg man, lanky and gaunt. His fur was pale, his hair a startling shade of pink. He was covered in open wounds, sores from the iron standing alongside countless marks of torture, of burns and punctures and bruises and cuts. Still he smiled tiredly as Jester stared at him.

“Thank you for putting that one down, by the way,” he said pleasantly. “I think there are a lot of people here who are gonna be really happy to see the last of him.”

“If you can heal, why are you covered in wounds?” Beau asked, suspicion plain in her voice. Jester was grateful for it. The man could easily be some kind of trick, some associate of Lorenzo’s trying to win their trust, and Jester probably would’ve fallen for it in her elation over Molly.

The man looked down at himself as if noticing the wounds for the first time. “Oh yeah,” he said, sounding mildly surprised, “I almost forgot about those. When they threw me in here, I figured that if I tried to heal myself, they’d do something to keep me from doing it again, like cutting out my tongue. I like having a tongue – it’s useful for things like eating and talking – so I just kinda bided my time. But I’ve probably got enough magic on board right now that I can deal with these and still have enough to help you folks out. Thanks for the reminder.”

The man placed a hand against his chest and murmured a healing incantation. More fungus sprouted from the wounds all across his body before shriveling and falling away, leaving new skin and fur behind. He let out a low groan of satisfaction. “Oh yeah, that’s way better,” he said. “Now it’s mostly just my back that hurts. These cages really weren’t made with tall folk in mind, were they?”

Jester and Beau exchanged a look. There was a certain surrealness to this that made Jester wonder if she was loopy from her injuries. Might as well go with it.

“Alright, I’ll get you out of there!” Jester said, and hurried over to his cage.

“Hey thanks,” said the man, still smiling. “I think there’s a ring of keys back near the entrance somewhere.”

That would take too long. Yasha might not be in as bad of shape as Molly, but Jester wasn’t going to waste any more time than she already had. She grabbed the bars of the man’s cage and began to pull, the muscles in her arms and shoulders straining hard enough to actually show through her fat for once. The iron creaked and screamed, and Jester’s muscles burned with exertion. A low growl rose in her throat, climbing in pitch and volume until it exploded from her mouth in a yell as she gave one final, almighty yank and felt the bars finally bend and part.

Breathing heavily, Jester stepped back, rubbing her hands together and admiring her work. The firbolg man in the cage blinked once, slowly, a faint look of surprise on his face. “That works too,” he said, sounding ever so slightly taken aback. “Thanks.”

As the man climbed out of his cage, Jester glanced over at Beau. Beau stared back at her, her mouth hanging slightly open, an expression that Jester couldn’t quite identify on her face. It seemed like some cousin of surprise or shock, but something about it made Jester rub her arms self-consciously.

“I can be strong, okay!” Jester said defensively.

“Yeah… I mean, yeah!” Beau said, snapping out of whatever trance she seemed to be in, looking away and rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. Was she blushing? “Yeah, you’re, like, really fucking strong, I mean. I’m kinda jealous, honestly – there’s no way I could do that.”

“Maybe you just need more sugar in your diet!” Jester quipped. “That’s where all my secret power comes from!” She turned away and rushed over to where their new friend was kneeling over Yasha.

Behind her, she heard Beau mumble, “I don’t think that’s how – okay.”

She arrived just as the man finished his spell. He stood up and nodded in satisfaction as Yasha’s wounds began to close. Jester dropped to her knees and took Yasha’s hand as her eyes flickered open. She blinked once, groggily, before her mismatched eyes widened in alarm.

“Molly! Is he- ?” Yasha asked, trying to push herself to her feet. Her hand squeezed so tight that it all but crushed Jester’s.

“He’s okay, he’s okay!” Jester reassured her, putting a hand on Yasha’s shoulder to try to keep her in a sitting position. “You’re, like, really fucked up, Yasha. Please rest for a minute, okay?”

“Yeah, you should listen to your friend,” the man said. “Once I’ve made sure everyone has gotten some healing, I’ll get some more for the two of you, okay?”

Yasha nodded stiffly. “Don’t use any on me, I’m fine,” she said. “Give mine to Molly.”

“Well, we’ll see,” the man said.

A loud clanging sound came from behind her, and Jester jumped, readying her sickle as a figure staggered into the room. As he stepped into the light, Jester’s heart leapt – it was Fjord. His armor had been hacked to pieces, and he was covered in so much blood that it looked more like paint. He had left a trail behind him. Now, he leaned heavily against the side of a cage, barely able to stand.

Jester ran towards him with a yell of excitement. “Fjord! You’re alive!”

“No need to sound so surprised about it,” Fjord said, exhaustion obvious in every fiber of his voice. “Wohd was a tough fucker, though, I’ll give her that. Did you get Lorenzo?”

Jester nodded, and it was only then that it really hit her. They’d killed the Iron Shepherds! Her crazy, desperate plan was working – now it was just a matter of grabbing Ionos when he came by in the morning. Suddenly giddy, she gave Fjord a big hug.

“Ow!” Fjord yelped, his voice jumping an octave. “Careful! I think she broke a few ribs.”

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” Jester said, mortified. The blood that was all over Fjord was all over her now. “Can you help him?” she called over to the mysterious healer.

The firbolg man looked up. “Oh yeah, that does not look pleasant,” he said. “I’m gonna – oh yeah, no, that’s really grizzly, I’ll get right on that.”

Fjord was staring at the man, his face full of wonder. “It’s you,” he whispered, his voice thick. “You’re alive.”

“Well, yeah,” the man said with a chuckle as he approached. “I wouldn’t have been a very good slave if I was dead.”

“They killed Cali,” Fjord said, and Jester wondered how much he was talking to the healer and how much to himself. “After I learned that, I didn’t dare to hope that you…” He swallowed. “I swore I would come back for you. I swore I wouldn’t leave you down her to suffer and die. I just – I just can’t believe you’re here.”

“Seems like you and your friends did a really good job dealing with things here,” the man said. “I’m certainly glad to be out of that cage.”

The man reached towards Fjord, hands outstretched to heal, and Fjord surged forward and wrapped him in a hug so tight that Jester was surprised that he didn’t lift him off the ground. “You saved my life,” Fjord said, “You saved my life and you suffered so much for it, and I can never thank you enough for that. I don’t even know your name.”

Jester felt a twist of jealousy in her stomach. Fjord was too injured to take a hug from her, but had no problem hugging this guy?

“Oh, wow, where are my manners?” the man said, looking somewhat contrite as he patted Fjord’s back. Jester watched the fungus begin to seal over Fjord’s wounds as he did so. “My name is Caduceus. Caduceus Clay. And you said your name was Fjord, right? My memory of that day is a little jumbled, so I’m sorry if I’m remembering that wrong.”

“No, you’re not. My name is Fjord,” Fjord said. He suddenly seemed to realize how tightly he was hugging Caduceus and quickly let go, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Jester looked away from them, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. Her eyes fixed on Beau, leaning awkwardly against a wall. Jester felt a sudden surge of alarm as she realized how completely soaked-through her makeshift bandage was, how much her legs were shaking and how pale her face was.

“Caduceus!” Jester called, feeling that alarm tinge her voice. “Beau really needs some healing!”

“It’s really not that big of a deal!” Beau protested unconvincingly as Caduceus approached her. “I bandaged it and shit, see?”

“You were impaled, Beau!” Jester said angrily. What the fuck did she have to do to get her friends to start taking better care of themselves?

“Yeah, that’s gonna need a touch up,” Caduceus said, and as Beau began to protest further, he placed a hand on her stomach and cast his spell.

As Beau swore at him and tried to scrape the lichen off of herself, Caduceus turned towards Jester. “You need some?” he asked. “You were, uh, frozen solid there for a minute; that can’t have been good for you.”

“Oh, I don’t really feel the cold like other people,” Jester said, waving him off. “Low body temperature, you know?”

“Huh, I hadn’t thought about it.” Caduceus furrowed his brow. “In that case – well, I know I promised more healing for Yasha and Molly, but I’d really like to hold onto some for a few people that I’m worried about down here. Some friends got captured with me.”

“Shakaste actually made it out, just so you know,” Fjord interjected. “He’s resting up back in Shady Creek. I don’t think anyone else did, though. I’d be happy to help you look for them; I owe them too.”

Caduceus nodded. “Sure, I’d love the extra pair of eyes. Maybe we can start getting everyone down here out and back on their feet.”

Jester felt a sudden stab of worry. “Fjord,” she said hesitantly, “you’re still going to help us get Ionos, right?” He wasn’t going to abandon her now that he had what he wanted, was he?

Fjord blinked. “Of course, Jester,” he said. “I’ll come check in before dawn at least, so we can get in position. Does that work?”

Jester nodded. “Maybe the rest of us will take an hour to recuperate a bit before we finish clearing out the rest of the keep. I’m sure we missed a few.”

Fjord nodded, then he and Caduceus turned and started walking towards the entrance to the maze of cages. Jester could just hear Fjord say under his breath, “You know, I’m not positive I remember what all of your companions looked like. It’s, um, a little embarrassing.”

“Not at all,” Caduceus said. “One of them is a firbolg like me, but not really like me. Her name is Nila. She’s got darker fur. And the other’s a dwarf with – you know, I bet they didn’t let Keg have a razor in here, so it’s probably an actual beard by now.”

Jester let out a soft sigh as they rounded a corner, vanishing from sight. All the tension in her body seemed to completely uncoil and she slumped down, exhausted, and came to rest leaning against the wall next to Beau.

* * *

Beau grimaced slightly at the wet sucking sound Yasha’s sword made as she withdrew it from the slaver’s back. An involuntary shudder ran down her spine, which she suppressed as best she could when Yasha turned to face her.

“I think that might be all of them,” Yasha said.

“God I hope so,” Beau responded. “I’m just so ready to crash in one of those beds we found, you know?”

Yasha nodded. “I think I will sleep very well tonight. We did good work today.”

It was true, Beau knew, but the sheer volume of gore she had waded through today made it hard to keep the bigger picture in mind. “Should we do one last sweep?” she asked. “I’d really hate to get stabbed in my sleep, or to have one of them go spook Ionos.”

“Sounds good.” Yasha narrowed her eyes and began walking deliberately down the hallway, sweeping for any signs of life.

It was only Beau and Yasha clearing out the keep. For one, they’d actually obliterated the vast majority of the garrison during their mad dash for Lorenzo, which, Beau supposed, reflected poorly on their plan. For another, Jester had looked more grey than blue at the end of their rest, and was, by her own admission, out of magic.

“Look,” Beau had said, “me and Yasha don’t rely on spells for any of what we do, and we both got some healing – you didn’t. And we can’t all go; someone needs to keep an eye on Molly.”

Molly still hadn’t woken from his slumber, and it had been that argument more than anything that had convinced Jester to stay below. Yasha had wanted to go alone, but neither Beau nor Jester was about to let that happen. Privately, Beau wasn’t sure whether she’d be much help; whatever strange energy and focus had gripped her during her fight with Lorenzo was long gone, and she was back to being a mediocre knife fighter with a few borrowed Cobalt Soul tricks, many of which she didn’t think she could pull off without ripping her stab wound open again. It had been lucky that the few remaining slavers had been absolutely shit fighters.

Beau felt a pang of guilt as she looked at Yasha, who still looked the perfect warrior. Her arms didn’t even slightly shake under the weight of her enormous greatsword.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Yasha stopped and looked back at her, her expression confused. “What for?”

“For, you know.” Beau looked at the ground. “For not helping you, after Molly went down. I should’ve tried harder. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“Beau,” Yasha said softly, “he stabbed you. He lifted you into the air by your stab wound. It is incredible that you were even able to stand after it, let alone fight.”

Something in her voice made Beau look up. There was a shakiness behind Yasha’s eyes, a hint of wetness to them, but they looked back at her with sincerity. “When I… when I went down,” Yasha said, “I thought I had failed you all. I thought Molly was dead, that you were bleeding out and helpless, that Lorenzo would kill Jester before she could break through the ice. I thought it was all over. But you somehow found the strength to keep fighting, to resist him and to break him. I shouldn’t have underestimated you, and I’m so, so sorry for doing that. I should know how unstoppable you are by now.”

Beau rubbed the back of her neck, feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable. “Yeah, well, it was kind of a fluke,” she said. “I just had a really weird moment of clarity, you know? Like, everything slowed down and I just had this, like, super adrenaline thing going through me. It wasn’t like anything I’ve ever felt before; I was probably just super lucky.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Yasha said. “I really wish you could see how incredible you are.”

Beau didn’t really know what to say to that. They moved in silence for awhile after, passing back over the rooms and corridors of the Sour Nest. Eventually, Beau asked, “What was with those wings? I didn’t know you could do that.”

Yasha visibly winced, and Beau immediately regretted that line of questioning. She should’ve known it was a sore subject – Yasha wouldn’t have kept them a secret for this long otherwise.

“Oh, you know,” she said uncomfortably, “it’s just something I’ve been able to do for awhile. I don’t exactly know why, but I just can.”

“Well, I think it’s cool as shit,” Beau said. “It makes you look like some kind of dark angel. Are you secretly a demon or something?” she joked, elbowing Yasha in the side.

Yasha stared straight at her. “Yes.”

Beau froze on the spot. She contemplated for a moment falling onto Yasha’s sword. Then Yasha smiled.

“Just kidding,” she said.

“Fucking hell, Yasha! You have to fucking work on your delivery; you gave me a fucking heart attack.”

It didn’t take long after that for them to finish their sweep. Beau started cleaning off a table in the mess hall while Yasha went below to give Jester the all clear. A short time later, Caduceus emerged from the trapdoor, followed by Jester and Yasha, supporting an awake but absolutely exhausted looking Mollymauk. Beau sprang to her feet as he emerged.

Molly waved at her to sit back down and rolled his eyes. “Oh please, stop acting like I rose from the dead,” he said, his voice weak and raspy. “This isn’t nearly that dramatic.”

“I thought you _were_ dead, you dick,” Beau said thickly, complying. “I’m, uh, really glad you’re not.”

Molly snorted. “Please, stabbed to death by a random asshole slaver? What kind of ending would that be? Believe me, I’ve got dramatic plans for when I actually kick the bucket. Maybe I’ll let you in on the planning committee if you’re nice enough.”

“Oh fuck you.”

“Fuck you too.” Molly settled laboriously at the table next to Beau.

Caduceus walked off towards the kitchen. Beau looked over to Jester. “Where’s Fjord at?”

“Still downstairs freeing prisoners,” Jester said. “He found the people he was looking for and they're trying to get everyone organized.”

“Most of them could benefit from a hot meal,” Caduceus called from the kitchen. “Don’t worry, I’ll make enough for you all too.”

“I bet if we can get them healed up a bit, they’d be able to help us capture Ionos,” Jester said.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Beau said. “What about you? It doesn’t look like you’ve done any healing up?”

“Doesn’t it?” Jester asked, her eyes growing far too wide and innocent. “Maybe Caduceus’s magic mostly healed the internal stuff.”

“Uh huh,” Beau said skeptically. “Yasha, do you believe her?”

Yasha muttered something under her breath.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

“She didn’t actually take any healing,” Yasha mumbled louder.

“Yasha!” Jester said indignantly. “I told you not to tell her!”

“Okay, well, I’m a bad liar!” Yasha said, raising her hands in an awkward shrug.

Jester turned back towards Beau. “There were a lot of people who needed it more, okay?” she said defensively.

Beau snorted. “Figured you’d say something like that, so I got you a gift. Here – I found it upstairs.” Beau tossed her a crystal vial full of a thick, pinkish-red liquid. Healing potion.

“There are people who need this more too,” Jester said as she stared down at the potion.

“Other people didn’t get frozen solid and tortured with psychic magic today trying to rescue a bunch of slaves today,” Beau said, more heatedly than she had intended. “Jester, you look terrible, which is saying something since you normally look fucking phenomenal. I don’t want you to die when we attack Ionos because you were so focused on helping everyone else that you didn’t help yourself, okay? I care about you. We all do,” she added quickly.

Jester stared down at the potion for a moment longer, then jerkily upended it into her mouth. Even as she swallowed, Beau could see the grey pallor fading from her skin, and she felt a warm sense of satisfaction.

“Got any gifts for me?” Molly asked. “I’m gonna need a lot to be ready to fight tomorrow morning.”

Beau snorted. “Yeah, that’s not fucking happening. You’re gonna need a lot of rest, and believe me, it sucks. Only so much magic can do for having your chest cavity ripped open and scraped out.”

“Speak for yourself,” Molly said. “Weren’t you in a coma for three days? Maybe you’re just a slow healer.”

“Cut me some slack!” Beau protested. “My guts were basically falling out of my body! Plus, my wound got pumped full of poison and marinated in shit! Your dinky little puncture wound doesn’t even compare.”

“Hmm.” Molly stroked his chin contemplatively. “Lorenzo seems like the kind of person to coat his weapons in shit. Maybe I should keep an eye on that.”

“Speaking of Lorenzo,” Beau said, “I actually did get you something. Here.” She tossed an empty leather sack onto the table in front of Molly.

“Well, it’s a nice thought,” Molly said, “but I don’t think I need Lorenzo’s smelly sack.”

Beau rolled her eyes. “Stick your arm in it.”

“If this is a trick, it’s very cruel to prank an invalid,” Molly said, reaching into bag. His eyes went wide as he kept reaching further in until his arm had sunk up to the shoulder into a bag that shouldn’t have fit a quarter of that length. “Holy shit!”

“You’re welcome,” Beau said. “Found it sweeping Lorenzo’s room. Figured you probably deserved it, since you saved my life and everything.”

Molly withdrew his arm and gave Beau a long look. If she didn’t know better, Beau would think he looked touched. “I’d like to tell you about how I was born, Beau, if you’re willing to listen.”

“I have no idea where you’re going with this, but it can’t be anywhere good,” Beau said. “I swear, if this is the setup to some kind of sack joke – wait, that’d be pretty funny, actually. I’m all ears.”

Molly smiled. “About two years ago, I crawled out of a grave…”

* * *

It was a chilly morning – the crispness of autumn was already beginning to yield to the bite of winter. It shouldn’t have surprised Jester, considering how far north they were. It didn’t bother her, exactly, but she could feel Beau and Yasha shivering on either side of her. They crouched in the bushes just outside of the Sour Nest as the first rays of dawn light filtered down through the purple canopy to illuminate the fancy carriage of the Jagentoths pulling up to the gate.

One of Ionos’s guards got out, looking around suspiciously. The fortress was too quiet, Jester thought. No sentries. Still, the guard approached the gate and knocked three times. The hard thunks seemed dampened by the sturdy wooden door, and any echoes were swallowed by the dense quiet of the Savalirwood.

“Something’s wrong!” the guard called back to the carriage.

That was all the waiting Jester felt like doing. She gave a sharp whistle, and she and her friends rose from their hiding places, encircling the carriage. Molly may have been resting, but Jester did not lack for strength; when she rose, Beau and Yasha and Fjord rose with her, and with Fjord rose Caduceus and Nila and Keg. Filling in the gaps in the circle were a dozen newly freed prisoners, armed to the teeth and eager for some measure of vengeance for their captivity. Jester relished the look of despair in the eyes of the guards as they assessed their odds.

She stepped forward with a skip and a hop, drawing the eyes of her prey to her. “Oh hi Mr. Jagentoth!” she called cheerily towards the carriage. “I’m ready to accept your surrender!”

There was a moment of hesitation, and Jester held her breath. Many of the freed prisoners were chronically malnourished and weak from their time in captivity. With a concerted push, there was a chance that six elite soldiers could fight their way free with Ionos in tow.

But slavers were cowards, one and all, and so Jester watched as an aging half-elven man emerged from the carriage, hands held over his head. “I do not recognize you,” he called to Jester. “Might I know the name of my captor?”

“Oh, it really doesn’t matter,” Jester said. “Lots of people really hate you, you know.”

Ionos grimaced. “I will surrender to you with a promise of good conduct and fair treatment. My family will happily pay whatever ransom you like.”

“Oh don’t worry!” Jester said, sounding as reassuring as she could manage. “We will treat you exactly as is appropriate for your station, and we will get exactly the value we want from you.” She smiled at him triumphantly, so wide she thought for sure her face would split, and watched the blood drain from his face.

"Take him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are back to normal sized updates, which is a real relief. As ever, if you enjoyed this chapter, let me know about it!


	18. Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOO! THAT'S 100,000 WORDS!

The people of Shady Creek Run were accustomed to strange sights, and were well-practiced at looking the other way and going about their business, so Jester knew that her procession must have been something really unusual to draw the stares and whispers of every single person they passed.

Jester stood at the head of their party; Yasha guarded her left, Beau her right. Behind her came Molly, leading Ionos Jagentoth, hands bound and a bag over his head. Fjord and Keg flanked him, watching carefully for any sign of an escape attempt or outside interference. His guards had been left bound and gagged in the cages at the Sour Nest. Someone would find them eventually, Jester was sure; whether that was before or after they starved to death, she didn’t particularly care. Behind them came the thirty-some prisoners they’d freed from those very cages the night before. Caduceus and Nila brought up the rear, one watching for an attack from behind, the other watching the weak and malnourished people walking in front of them, ready to render aid if it should be required.

They had taken a bit of time that morning after securing Ionos to outfit everyone with some sort of weapon; if they didn’t at least look like they could hold their own, Beau had insisted that their numbers wouldn’t matter.

“Everyone’s an opportunist in Shady Creek,” she had said. “Numbers are only an advantage if no one looks like a weak link.”

To that end, Beau and Yasha had menacing grimaces plastered to their faces, staring down anyone who looked too long or too closely. Jester didn’t bother to hide her own pleasure and satisfaction; the contrast between her smile and her friends’ scowls would probably be much more unnerving than any intimidation tactic she could try.

Jester brought the procession to a stop as a familiar looking man with dark skin and wild hair stepped into the road, eight other people at his back. His steps were much more certain than they had been before, and a hummingbird now fluttered by his ear. Shakaste smiled.

“I’d say you met with some success,” he said. “Keg, Caduceus, Nila, it’s real good to see you all again.”

“Shakaste, we have a lot of people who really need to get back to their homes,” Jester said. “Do you think you could help coordinate that?”

The hummingbird zipped away from Shakaste and performed a quick lap around the crowd of former prisoners. Shakaste smiled wider. “It’ll be a challenge, but I think it’s one I can handle. Helping people is what I do. I wouldn’t mind a bit of aid if any of my companions can spare it, though.”

“I have to get my son home,” Nila said softly. “He has been through too much, and he needs time to rest and heal. I am sorry.”

Keg seemed to consider the request. “Fuck, I guess I don’t have anything better to do,” she said after a moment.

Shakaste nodded. “What about you, Clay?” he asked.

Caduceus smiled apologetically and glanced at Fjord. “I think I have other business I need to attend to.”

Fjord nodded at him, then looked to Jester. “You’re all heading back to Zadash, right? Would you object to some company on the road?”

“Not at all!” Jester said enthusiastically, her heart skipping a beat. If Fjord was coming to Zadash with her, then maybe… well, maybe something. She could envision showing him all her favorite places in the city, maybe sharing a pastry at the Meal Hearth, or sharing a kiss in a Tri-spire garden, but the space in between here and there, the process of making that happen, seemed a bit of a blur. She supposed she’d just have to keep being friendly and charming on the road and eventually he’d get the hint and say something.

“Well!” said Shakaste, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. “Let’s get these fine people settled. I warned the innkeep to expect a crowd, but I think she might be in for a bit of a shock. Come on!”

With that, the group separated, Shakaste and Keg herding their charges away down the street. Nila murmured a goodbye to Caduceus before she and her son and mate began walking in a different direction, headed out of town. Jester, Beau, Yasha, Molly, Fjord, and Caduceus continued on towards the estate of Ophelia Mardoon, Ionos in tow.

As they walked, Jester overheard Yasha ask Caduceus, “Why did you want to travel with us?”

“Well, for now, I’m travelling with Mr. Fjord,” Caduceus answered. “I’ve been waiting for a sign from the Wildmother about where I should be going for a while now. When Shakaste and Keg and Nila came to my home and asked for my help, I thought it was them that I was supposed to travel with, but, well, we got captured, and the only one I managed to rescue was Fjord. He was the only one who got away, and he was the one he came back and set me free. Now it looks like the original group is going its separate ways, but he’s got some unfinished business, some stuff weighing on him that he wants to pursue. It seems like something I could be helpful with, and, uh, it seems more and more like he’s the sign I’ve been waiting for. So for now, I’ll go where he goes, for as long as he’ll have me.”

“I understand,” Yasha said. “It… it can be nice to have some, some direction, some sign about what you have to do next.”

“Yeah, yeah it is.”

It didn’t take long before they arrived at the manicured lawn sprawling out before the Mardoon estate. Jester strode confidently towards the guards at the door, who were staring at her party with something like alarm.

“Ophelia is expecting us,” she said breezily. “Go tell her we’re back.”

The guards stared at her uncertainly. “Who should we tell her is back?” one of them asked hesitantly.

Jester gave a careless wave. “She’ll know who.”

Ophelia did not keep them waiting long. Soon they were shown to the same sitting room where they had met with her the day before. Molly still had a tight grip on Ionos, and after a moment of awkward hovering, Fjord stepped up on Ionos’s other side and gripped his arm. Caduceus did not sit, instead staring around at the rich appointments with an expression of curious delight. A few moments later, Ophelia arrived, settling herself opposite Jester with a look of polite curiosity as she took in their arrangement.

“You’ve added to your entourage,” she commented, raising an eyebrow at Caduceus. “Recruiting local talent?”

Caduceus turned to her with a smile. “That’s very kind of you to say; I like to think I’m a little talented,” he said.

“Well, since you weren’t interested in offering us your aid,” Beau said, her voice even and measured, “we had to look elsewhere to achieve our goals.”

“You went to the Sour Nest?” Ophelia asked, sounding slightly incredulous. “I take it your reconnaissance was productive, then?”

Jester snorted with laughter. “I guess you could say that,” she said, and gestured towards Molly. He smiled, nodded, and, with a flourish, pulled the bag off of Ionos’s head.

A look of absolute shock broke across Ophelia’s face. Then she began to laugh, long and loud. When, eventually, her mirth began to subside, Jester said, “We killed the Iron Shepherds too. You are all clear to start sending shipments again.”

Ophelia shook her head in amazement. “You and your team are truly exceptional, Sapphire,” she said. “I hope your father realizes what an asset he has in you. If any of you ever feel that your talents are underappreciated, don’t hesitate to seek me out; I guarantee that I can give you the respect and compensation you deserve.”

Pride swelled in Jester’s chest, warm and comforting. Whatever anger her dad might’ve had towards her about how she left would surely be overwhelmed by how good of a job she’d done, right? He’d be proud of her. Of course he would be.

“Will you be able to get enough information from him to take out his family?” Jester asked, glancing at Ionos, who had gone very pale. He appeared to be chewing at the rope they had used to gag him.

“Oh, I expect so,” Ophelia purred. “He and I are going to be having some very long talks. I can’t wait to get started.” She leered at him, and he recoiled. “But business must come before pleasure, of course.”

Ophelia clapped once, and a servant entered the room. “Ready three carriages immediately,” Ophelia instructed him imperiously. “Load them with a broad selection – I assume the market in Zadash has shifted somewhat since the last time I conducted business there, and I want to be prepared for whatever the Gentleman might need.” She turned back towards Jester. “He is still adamant about the unviability of the slave trade in his city?”

Jester nodded quickly. “Yep, still too risky,” she said, maybe a little too enthusiastically. “It’s really too bad,” she added to cover her slip.

“Hmm.” Ophelia absently tapped a finger on the arm of her loveseat. “No slaves on this trip, then. I will discuss this with him in person – I am sure that he and I can find a creative solution together. There is so much profit we are losing out on.”

Jester felt a sickening panic rise in her chest. “You know, I think he’s run through the options pretty thoroughly,” she said, her words quick, her tone cloyingly cheerful. She knew it didn’t sound genuine, she knew her desperation rang through too loudly, but she couldn’t stop herself. She couldn’t think of anything else to try. “He’s actually really frustrated with it and it would probably be better if you didn’t even mention it, he hates being reminded about it so much, you know?”

Ophelia raised an eyebrow at her. “Business before pleasure runs both ways, my dear. If your father cannot bear to discuss solutions to a problem because he finds the discussion unpleasant, then he is no fit business partner for me. If you intend to continue in this line of work, you need to learn that lesson, and learn it quickly.”

She gave all of them a sweeping look. “Each carriage should be able to fit three comfortably,” she said. “Divide up and get settled. I want to get underway immediately.”

The dismissal was obvious. Jester rose stiffly to her feet, her stomach roiling with anxiety. If Ophelia pushed her dad on this… Well, she didn’t know how much pressure he’d stand up to. He’d already caved to the Myriad. Would he cave to the Mardoons too?

She supposed she’d find out in a few days.

* * *

There was a certain sense of unreality when they made their final rest stop before Zadash. Fjord was out of the carriage in an instant, his expression of intense discomfort and hurried waddle making it obvious exactly why he was so anxious to duck out of sight behind a nearby bush. Molly was quick to escape as well; he had been very vocal for the past hour or so about how sick he was of being cooped up. But Jester lingered for a long minute, overcome by the irrational certainty that, if she just refused to take this final break, the last leg of the journey before them would never come.

Unfortunately, her anxiety had made the carriage seem incredibly stuffy, and her desire to breathe without a weight on her chest quickly won out over her denial. Jester poked her head out of the carriage and let the crisp autumn air fill her lungs. It didn’t ease the nervous pressure gripping her heart, but at least the air was refreshing, and the afternoon sun felt nice on her face.

As Jester exited her carriage and arched her back, stretching as she stared over at the other two carriages. Ophelia showed no sign of exiting hers; she was probably irritated that the rest of them needed this brief pause at all. At the other carriage, though, Yasha and Caduceus were just emerging. They appeared to be deeply engaged in some sort of conversation. Yasha was gesturing animatedly, her eyes glittering with excitement. Caduceus was smiling wide at whatever it was she was saying, his attention equally rapt. Behind them came Beau, a pained look on her face. As she caught Jester’s eye, it melted into one of desperate relief, and Beau all but ran towards her. Jester gave her a questioning look.

“They’re talking about flowers,” Beau said, as though there was nothing more horrible in all the multiverse.

“Flowers are very pretty,” Jester said reasonably. Beau shook her head.

“You don’t understand. They haven’t talked about anything else the whole time I’ve been riding with them. Hours and hours of flowers. Every time I try to redirect the conversation, it only takes, like, a minute tops before something I say reminds Yasha of a flower she saw while travelling or Caduceus of one he grew in his graveyard one time.” Beau’s eyes were hollow, like those of a prisoner emerging from an oubliette for the first time in decades. “There’s no escape. Please, please, make someone else ride with them the rest of the way. If I have to sit through another minute of that, I’m going to kill either them or myself, whichever is easier.”

In spite of her stress, Jester laughed. “I’m sure Molly would switch with you. He could probably find something to say about flowers, even if it’s only which ones will make you trip balls.”

"There's probably some sort of tarot symbolism to most of them," Beau said with an air of distaste. "I'm sure he'll manage."

There was a rustling sound, and Jester glanced over to see Fjord awkwardly emerging from the bushes, straightening his belt. He glanced up and met Jester’s eye, then started walking towards her. Jester felt her stomach do a flip. Was he finally going to say something to her? Jester had been dropping hints that she was interested the whole journey back, had given him so many opportunities to make the first move. She’d been starting to worry that she was doing something wrong and had dedicated quite a bit of energy to figuring out what she needed to do for him to take some initiative.

Fjord stopped next to them and gave Jester a smile that made the nervous tingling in her gut explode out to her fingertips.

“Hey Jester,” he said casually.

Jester smiled back at him and cast her eyes down shyly. “Hi Fjord.” She waited for him to speak, hardly daring to breathe, the moment stretching out impossibly long like a rubber band pulled almost to its breaking point.

“Beau, would you trade with me for the last leg?” Fjord asked. “I need to have a chat with Caduceus about our plans.”

The rubber band snapped. Jester’s eyes shot up in shock, her smile withering as the nervous tingling excitement throughout her body transformed into the gnawing, empty ache of awful disappointment. She was sure her face was an open book, but neither Fjord nor Beau was looking at her.

Beau’s expression immediately lifted into one of profound relief. “It’s a deal,” she said hurriedly, before turning and running towards Jester’s carriage. “No takebacks!” she yelled at him over her shoulder as she dove through the open door.

Fjord turned to Jester with a look of confusion, and Jester barely managed to plaster a smile onto her face in time. “Well, guess I’ll see you in Zadash,” Fjord said with a shrug, and walked away. Jester’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly as she tried to find something to yell after him, something to give some relief to the horrible feeling of rejection and failure pooling in her stomach, but what was there to say?

Instead, she watched as Fjord tapped Caduceus on the shoulder before climbing into their carriage. Caduceus said something to Yasha, and they both followed him in.

“Oh come on!” Molly yelled in frustration. “You call that a bloody break?” He walked up next to Jester. “I am not getting back in that coffin with you,” he said, apparently oblivious to Jester’s struggle to regain composure. “No offense or anything, you’re perfectly lovely, but I am getting some fresh air.” Molly darted towards the carriage and vaulted onto its roof.

Jester hesitated another moment, taking deep breath after deep breath, before finally giving it up as a bad job. She crawled back into the carriage and stared out the tiny slit that passed for a window intently, hoping that Beau wouldn’t look too closely at her trembling lip.

With a jolt, the carriage began to roll. Jester continued to look out the window, staring at nothing in particular. Beau let out a contented sigh.

“I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated quiet like this,” she said.

A silence followed. Jester supposed that Beau was probably waiting for her to say something witty, but she had nothing to add. After a moment, she heard a shuffling sound and glanced over to see Beau leaning towards her, a look of concern on her face.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” Jester said, immediately breaking eye contact to keep Beau from noticing the tears that were slowly beginning to well up.

“You don’t look fine,” said Beau. Jester felt a hand on her knee. “Talk to me,” Beau said softly. “Whatever it is, I’m here.”

Jester looked towards her. Beau’s face was full of an almost tender concern. Jester felt a surge of guilt. Her boy troubles didn’t deserve that kind of response. “It’s nothing,” she said.

Beau kept looking at her.

“It’s stupid,” she tried again.

“Not everything has to be world-shattering to be upsetting, you know,” Beau said, a half smile playing across her lips.

“… okay.” Jester took a moment to steady herself. “It’s Fjord.”

Beau’s eyes widened in surprise. “Fjord? What about him? Did he say something to you?”

Jester gave a shaky laugh. “No, kind of the opposite actually. I’ve been… I’ve been trying to let him know that I, like, like him, right? Like, I’ve been laughing at all his jokes – even the bad ones! – and bumping him with my shoulder and stuff and setting him up in conversation to say something romantic back or just, you know, declare his interest! And he keeps not doing it! I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong!”

“Hmm.” Beau steepled her fingers beneath her chin. “Why not tell him you’re interested first? Like, I know it can be scary to be emotionally vulnerable and shit, but it’s gotta be better than marinating in uncertainty and regret, right?” Beau grimaced, as though the words tasted foul in her mouth.

“This isn’t just some guy, Beau!” Jester said, feeling defensive. “I told you before, what I want is true love, the kind they talk about in the stories!” _The kind that people like me don’t get_ , she thought. “If I just wanted someone to kiss and fuck, I could’ve had that years ago. In the stories, though, the dashing hero always makes the first move.”

“Have you considered that maybe you’re the hero?” Beau asked, and Jester thought she heard a faint note of indignation to her tone. “I mean, it’s your life. It’s your story.”

“I’m not a hero, Beau,” Jester said, looking down at her hands. “You have to know that by now.”

“I can know whatever the fuck I want, Jester.” Now Beau definitely sounded indignant. Jester wasn’t exactly sure why; she didn’t think she’d said anything insulting about Beau.

“What about all the shit we just did?” Beau continued. “We freed a ton of people from awful torture! We killed a bunch of slavers, captured one of the people in charge, and handed him over to his rivals so that they can take down all the rest of the people in charge. How the fuck is that anything other than heroic?”

“Because the people we handed him over to are slavers too!” Jester all but yelled back, her facade of calm shattering. Guilt welled up in her like an erupting geyser, and suddenly all of it came pouring out. “They’re not going to free any of the people they find while taking down the Jagentoths, Beau, they’re just going to sell them themselves! With the Jagentoths’ operation under their control, the Mardoons might even get _more_ efficient at trafficking people! I risked all of your lives on a mission that just made everything worse! And I did it, even knowing all of that, because I thought it would help me keep my dad’s hands clean, because I couldn’t bear to think about the fact that he’s complicit in all of this! But I fucked that up too; I didn’t get rid of any of the pressure from the Myriad, and I might’ve taken the Jagnetoths off the table, but I brought the Mardoons back to it, and Ophelia is going to walk right in there and offer to sell him slaves again, and he’s going to say yes, because he was already ready to do it for the Jagnentoths. I just made things easier for him, Beau!”

Jester took a deep, steadying breath, then rushed on. “You know the worst part? I don’t even think I’d regret it if it had just worked. I would’ve been perfectly happy not to think about how much worse I made everything if it meant that I got to keep pretending that my dad was a good man for a little while longer.” She fixed Beau with a glare. “So what part of that sounds heroic to you, huh?”

Beau was quiet for a bit. Jester felt her guilt intensify. She shouldn’t have put all that on Beau; those were her shames, her fuckups. Beau was just trying to help; it wasn’t right for Jester to burden her with all of that.

Eventually, Beau broke the silence. “That’s, um, a lot more than boy troubles,” she said quietly, any hint of heat now gone from her voice.

Jester gave a weak chuckle. “I just… I’ve been waiting to meet the perfect guy for a long time, you know? I guess I just wanted something good to come out of all this, so I could maybe pretend it was worth it. But it was stupid to think that I’d be that lucky.”

The admission hurt. If Fjord – handsome, kind, well-spoken Fjord – wasn’t the man she was waiting for, then who could be?

Beau shifted uncomfortably. “Look,” she said, “you know your dad better than me, but you might be writing him off too early. Have you talked to him since you left? Like, with that spell you showed me when… well, you know.”

Jester shook her head. “I don’t know what to say to him. He’s got to be so mad at me for running out on him. I was sort of hoping he would forget to be angry if I also brought him a solution to his… well, I guess it was more my problem, wasn’t it?”

“You should try talking to him,” Beau said. “If he knows what’s coming, he can at least think about what he’s going to say instead of having to make a snap response to Ophelia in the moment.”

Jester hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Guess it couldn’t make things worse.”

“Cool. Um…” Beau looked around awkwardly. “Do you want me to give you some space for this? I could, uh, try to get up on the roof?”

Jester shook her head. “It’s okay, Beau. The moral support would be really nice, actually.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then drew forth her magic and wove the Sending, her dad’s face firmly fixed in her mind. “Hey Dad,” she said, “it’s Jester. We might’ve gone to Shady Creek and killed the Jagentoths. We’re coming back with Ophelia Mardoon. We’re a few hours out.”

Jester felt the spell begin to conclude and vanish into the air, and she desperately channeled more power into it, keeping it from ending. “She wants to sell you slaves. I told her we can’t take them. If you tell her that too, she’ll believe you. Please, Dad. Please.”

The spell released, and Jester sat very still, waiting for a response. She could practically feel the silence stretching, until:

“Jester,” her dad’s voice said into her ear, vibrating with barely controlled anger, “we are going to have a long talk about many things when you get home, and it won't be about business.” There was a pause. “Glad you’re safe.”

Then he was gone.

Jester let out a shuddering breath.

“Well?” Beau asked. “How’d it go?”

Jester shook her head slowly. “He’s really, really mad at me,” she said. “He didn’t tell me what he was going to do about Ophelia.”

“I, uh, guess that leaves room to hope?” Beau said uncertainly

“I guess.”

Jester went back to staring out the window, thinking of nothing, focusing only on the vista rolling past.

Beau cleared her throat awkwardly. “You know, I don’t think you should give up on Fjord yet. It’s possible he hasn’t picked up on your hints; some people can be, uh, really oblivious about crushes and stuff.”

Part of Jester didn’t want to answer. The jolt of anxious, desperate hope that Beau’s comment sent through her was a lot for her to deal with right now. But even with all the potential hurt wrapped up in that subject, it would be really nice to focus on something that had the slightest chance of going well. She turned back towards Beau.

“I don’t know how to be less subtle, though,” she said. “I already thought I was being really obvious!”

“Well,” Beau said, “he wanted to come back to Zadash with us, right? So there’s a good chance he’ll be sticking around for a bit. Maybe you could ask him on a date?”

Jester opened her mouth to protest and Beau raised her hands placatingly. “Or just to do an activity, and you can wait for him to make it into a date! Just, something that will give you a chance to hang out with him without distractions, you know? He’s probably a lot more likely to pick up on stuff that way.”

Jester smiled, a small point of hope flaring in her chest. “That’s a really good idea, Beau. Thank you.”

Beau shrugged. “Just figured you shouldn’t write someone off before you’ve really tried, you know? And you deserve a bit of happiness.”

There was some sort of weight to that last sentence that Jester couldn’t quite parse. She scrunched her brow and started trying to make sense of it, but she suddenly realized that she felt very tired. She could think about it with her eyes closed, right? Jester leaned against the wall of the carriage and did just that.

When she opened her eyes again, they were in Zadash. The sun was low in the sky, and the carriage bounced uncomfortably along the cobbled road. Jester wondered if that was what had woken her. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and almost elbowed Molly, who was now sitting next to her, right in the face.

“Oh, good to know you’re awake,” he said as he ducked her flying elbow.

“Sorry!” Jester apologized frantically. “When did you get here?”

“They made him get down when we got to the gate,” Beau said. “Said it was a ‘safety hazard’ or something.”

Jester rolled her eyes. “Well that’s stupid.”

“Right?” Molly said indignantly. “I was a circus performer! I could balance on a moving carriage doing a one-handed handstand with a scimitar between my teeth if I wanted to!”

The carriage rumbled to a halt. Jester looked over at Beau. “Guess we’re here,” she said. Beau nodded. With a deep breath, Jester stepped out of the carriage.

The Evening Nip looked the same as it ever had from the outside, and Jester experienced a powerful rush of relief at being home again, followed by an even more powerful rush of nerves. She glanced around. Yasha, Caduceus, and Fjord exited their carriage. It didn’t look like they were talking about flowers anymore.

Jester started in surprise when Beau stepped up next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Go talk to him,” she said. “I’ll get the ball rolling for you downstairs.”

Jester felt her heart swell with gratitude. “Thanks Beau,” she whispered. “You’re a really good friend.” She put her own hand on Beau’s and gave it a squeeze.

Beau squeezed back for a moment, then pulled away and walked towards the door to the tavern. Jester took a deep breath and walked over to Fjord. She just had to ask him how long he would be in Zadash and then ask him to go to a place with her. Maybe the Meal Hearth? That was enough like a date that he might get the picture, but not so romantic that she would have to actually ask him out to get him to go there. It had been too long since she'd had a good cupcake.

She took another deep breath. Piece of cake.

“Hey Fjord!” she said as she approached.

Fjord turned to her and smiled. “Hey Jester,” he said.

“Can I talk to you?” Jester said quickly, her voice humming with nervous energy. Her whole body tingled with adrenaline.

Fjord looked a little confused. “Sure,” he said, and they stepped away from Caduceus and Yasha. “What’s up?”

One thing at a time. “So, how long are you going to be in Zadash?” Jester asked, as nonchalantly as she could manage.

“We were actually planning to head out pretty much right away,” Fjord said. “There’s a lot of stuff left undone for me, and I don’t want to waste any more time than I already have putting it off.”

Oh. Jester’s hope came crashing back down. That wasn’t enough time! She didn’t have a plan for that! Should she just ask him anyway? Try to get him to stay an extra day? But why would he delay his travels just to have some baked goods with her? Maybe she should just come clean and ask him on a date. But then it wouldn’t be the way she wanted it! It wouldn’t be the perfect romance she’d been waiting for! Maybe that would be okay, though. Maybe it would be close enough. Maybe.

Feeling conflicted but determined not to let him slip through her fingers, Jester opened her mouth to ask Fjord out. “If you’re ever back in town, you should come say hi! Maybe we could hang out!” As soon as the words passed her lips, Jester groaned internally. That wasn’t asking him out! That wasn’t what she had meant to say; what was wrong with her?

“Thanks Jester, that sounds lovely,” Fjord said with a smile. He hesitated for a moment. “Was… was that all you wanted to say?”

“Yep!” Jester said, her smile masklike on her face. “Have a good trip!”

Fjord nodded. “It was really nice working with you all,” he said. “Good luck.”

“You too.”

“Caduceus!” Fjord called. “You ready to go?”

Caduceus walked over, smiling. “Oh yeah. Yeah, I can't wait.” He turned towards Jester for a moment. “This has been really nice,” he said. “I bet you’re going to have a really exciting life.”

“Thanks, Caduceus,” Jester said. Her throat felt like it was constricting.

Fjord and Caduceus turned and walked away down the street. As Jester stared after them, watching them disappear around a corner, she felt as though a bottomless pit was opening up beneath her. She turned inexorably back towards the Evening Nip.

* * *

Beau descended the stairs into the tavern with resolve. It was late enough in the day that the room was beginning to fill, and many faces turned towards her as she arrived. A whisper seemed to pass through the crowd. Beau ignored it; she was on a mission. She looked around the tavern, scouring it for the Gentleman, but he was nowhere to be seen. His table was unoccupied. She did, however, spot Cree sitting at the bar. Deciding that that was as good a place as any to start, Beau made her way over.

Cree looked up from her drink as Beau approached. “Oh good, you’re here,” she said with a sarcastic rasp. “You can buy my next drink , then.”

“Didn’t think you’d take my absence that personally,” Beau said, sitting down next to her.

“The boss has been having me track your merry band every day since you’ve been gone,” Cree explained. “Do you have any idea how bad of a headache that’s been giving me?”

“Sorry about the inconvenience,” Beau said sarcastically. “I’m sure our attack on the Jagentoths was really hard on you.”

Cree’s eyes widened. “You attacked the Jagentoths?” she whispered. “He’s been trying to stay out of the war in Shady Creek for years. He’s going to kill you!”

“Agreed,” Seamus chimed in from behind the bar. Beau hadn’t noticed him arrive. He poured a double of whiskey and pushed it towards Beau. “Your last drink is on the house.”

The scent of the whiskey was overpowering, the heady fumes making Beau’s mouth water and her heart ache with desire. She might actually die, it was true. No real reason to die sober, was there? And she could really use an extra bit of courage right now.

Beau put her hand on the glass but didn’t pick it up yet. Instead, she asked, “Is he in his office?”

Cree nodded. “He told me he needed to get ready for a very important unexpected guest,” she said.

Beau nodded. Before she could second-guess herself, she slid the whiskey to Cree and stood up. “There’s your free drink,” she said. “Would you do me a favor? There’s a bottle of whiskey in my room. On the off chance I come out of this alive, could you go take it away before I go up there? I don’t care what you do with it.”

Cree raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think Shady Creek Run would encourage you to embrace sobriety.”

“Yeah, well, weirder shit happens all the time.” Beau turned away and marched up the stairs towards the Gentleman’s office.

The door was unguarded and, when Beau tried the handle, unlocked, so she let herself in. The Gentleman was seated at his desk along with Sorah, furiously rifling through papers. He looked up as Beau closed the door behind her. He looked at her intently, his expression colder than she’d ever seen it.

“Give us the room, Sorah,” he said, his voice sharp as steel. For a moment, Beau could almost imagine she was back in her parents' house, facing down Thoreau. _Give us the room, Clara. It's time Beauregard and I understood each other._

Sorah stood up from the desk and pushed past Beau, none too gently, and exited the room, the door slamming behind her with a very final thud.

They stared at each other for a moment, like duelists sizing up an opponent. Beau made no attempt to hide the disdain she felt as she stared at him. The Gentleman’s eyes gave nothing away. He wasn’t smiling, though, not even a sharp one that carried the promise of violence. His expression was stormy. Focused. Direct.

“Care to explain why you dragged my daughter and myself into an international gang war, directly going against the Myriad in the process?” the Gentleman asked, only the faintest note of his usual careful lightness present in his tone.

“I think you should be thanking me,” Beau said. “You know, for keeping your daughter from dying while she tried to fix your moral failings for you.”

“You should have told me what she was planning so I could stop her,” the Gentleman said. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, but you work for me, not her. Biting the hand that pays you was a very, very bad idea, Beauregard.”

“Jester is my friend,” Beau said. “And even if she wasn’t, I don’t snitch on people to their shitty fucking fathers.”

The Gentleman did smile at that, a humorless, painful looking thing. “Someone smarter than you would at least pretend to be contrite, but if you feel like burning bridges so fast, we can go ahead and get to the point. For the record, though, you’re more naïve than her if you think this line of work allows for friends. We have allies, and we have liabilities. When someone becomes a liability, they must be dealt with. Jester learned that lesson many, many years ago.”

There was a rapier in his hand, Beau realized. When had that happened? The weapon was unadorned, but the steel was so cared-for that it shone like silver. For the moment, the blade hung loosely at his side, tip pointed towards the floor, but Beau knew just how fast he could bring it into a killing position.

“You think Jester would agree with you?” Beau asked with a humorless laugh. “Call her in, then.”

The Gentleman did not.

“That’s what I thought,” Beau said, loading the phrase with as much disdain as she could muster. “You know, I think I know her better than you ever have.”

“You don’t know shit about us. Or about anything else, apparently.”

“Oh yeah? Because she told me all about your little stint of piracy. She told me all about how scared and lonely she was, how her only friends were the poor bastards that you stole and tortured and sold off to suffer gods know what. She told me how good it feels to kill slavers, how much satisfaction it brings her to know that they are suffering even a fraction of the horror they’ve inflicted on others. And she told me how fucking hard it’s getting for her to make excuses for you.”

“My daughter still wants to believe that the world is fair and easy,” the Gentleman growled. “I didn’t think you were blind enough to believe that too. We don’t always get to be the kind of people we want to be. Sometimes we don’t have a choice.”

“Oh fuck off! You don’t have a _choice_?” Beau said with a venom that made the phase spider’s look weak. “There’s not some demon possessing you and making you put people in chains! You're the one sitting there and making the decision to destroy the lives of innocent people rather than make a little bit less money, or maybe lose the respect of some of the most disgusting people ever to live. You’re a coward.”

The Gentleman’s wrist flicked, and with a shiver of steel, Beau found the tip of his rapier pressing into her throat. “Don’t you dare call me a coward,” the Gentleman whispered, his voice hoarse and furious. “You have no idea what I have suffered and sacrificed to keep my daughter alive, to give her a childhood, to give her a future!”

“I have a pretty good idea,” Beau said, the blade grazing her skin as her throat flexed. She felt a warm trickle of blood begin to run down her neck. “I bet it was really hard, at first, for an honest sailor with an infant daughter to give himself over to slavers. I bet it made you feel like an irredeemable monster... for a few days, maybe. But I bet that once you started seeing the rewards you got from it, it became a lot easier to live with. Maybe you could’ve escaped the pirates at some point if you'd wanted to, maybe not. But once you were run out of Darktow, you were in the wind. Could’ve gone anywhere, been anyone. But it’s a lot easier to make strangers suffer and die than it is to be cold and hungry for a bit, or to have to start over and learn something new, isn’t it? And so what if you’ve become exactly the kind of person that Jester sees in her nightmares? You’re the one who gets to fucking raise her; you’ll just raise her to be a slaver too.”

“Enough!” the Gentleman spat. He pressed the blade harder into Beau’s neck and she felt more blood begin to spill down onto her vest. “Not another word!”

The anger and hatred and scorn burning within Beau reached a fever pitch. “Do it,” she spat back. “Prove me right, you coward. Prove that you’d rather murder than be even slightly uncomfortable. And then fucking explain it to Jester.”

Beau waited for the pain, for the awful choking she would feel as she drowned in her own blood. It didn’t come. The Gentleman kept staring at her, the rapier trembling ever so slightly. There was something behind his eyes now other than rage. After another moment, Beau reached up and lifted the blade away from her throat.

“So here’s your fucking choice,” Beau said. “The hard choice or the cowardly one. Either be a father that your daughter can be proud of, or be one of the monsters that she dreams of slaughtering.”

She took a step closer to him, almost bringing them nose to nose. Beau could see the faint trails of moisture running down the Gentleman’s face. “And for the record,” she said, “if you were anyone but Jester’s dad, or if she loved you even a little bit less than she does, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Either you’d be dead on the floor, or I would be, because I think I know which choice you’ll make. For her sake, I hope you’ll surprise me.”

Beau turned away from him as though he were an ant, unworthy of her attention, her fear, or even her hatred. As she walked towards the door, she kept bracing for him to attack, for cold steel to slide into her back and sever her spine.

It never came. Without looking back, Beau opened the door to the rest of the tavern and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been looking forward to this one for a long time, but holy shit was it hard to write. Please tell me all of your thoughts and feelings - they are the most gratifying thing to read. Also, there is a possibility of a delay next week, so just a heads up. If it ends up being a thing, I'll post something about it on my tumblr. Thanks for reading!


	19. A New Kind of Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is either a very late update or a very short hiatus. I'll let you decide :)

Jester lay on the bed in her room and waited, just as she had for the last… more than an hour, right? It had to have been more than an hour – it felt like eternity. But maybe if it had really been that long, her dread would’ve faded into boredom.

When she had entered the Evening Nip, she’d barely had a chance to make her presence known to the Troupe at large before Sorah forcefully shuffled her into her bedroom and explained in no uncertain terms that she was to remain there until her dad was ready for her. She’d briefly entertained the idea of escaping, but, well, she really did want to see him, and she didn’t want him to be any angrier than he already was when she did.

She hadn’t seen Beau when she descended. Realistically, Jester thought she was probably fine; probably just trapped in her room too, awaiting punishment. But she couldn’t shake the fear that her dad had already exacted punishment on her, something much worse than confinement. Jester wished she hadn’t expended so much of her magic communicating with her dad earlier; she desperately wanted to check in with Beau, just to allay some of her fears.

There was a knock at her door. Jester sat up as the door swung open slowly, and her dad stepped into her room. Jester did a double take; she’d been expecting Sorah to escort her to his office. Her dad… her dad didn’t look at all how she’d expected. He looked very tired, and his face looked sad and careworn in a way she’d never seen before.

“May I sit down?” he asked. He spoke softly, quietly, in his real voice.

“Of course!” Jester said, the brightness in her voice not quite managing to mask the frisson that ran through her body as the coil of nervousness in her chest tightened even more. Maybe his manner should have set her at ease, but the strangeness of it all only made her more uncomfortable. What was his angle?

The Gentleman sat next to her on the bed and just stared at her, saying nothing, his face betraying very little. His expression was sad and tender, and Jester squirmed beneath it. She badly wanted to start talking, to ask him what deal he’d reached with Ophelia, what had happened to Beau and Molly and Yasha, what would happen to her. But she restrained herself. She would almost certainly need to advocate for the safety of her friends, and she’d have a better chance of making that happen if he showed his hand first.

Eventually he did, and it was not at all what Jester expected.

“I feel I owe you an apology,” her dad said.

“I – what?” Jester stammered, her mind going suddenly, completely blank. Confused did not even begin to cover it.

“I would like to explain myself,” he said as if she had not spoken. His tone, his pace, was nervous and hurried, as if he could not bear to carry his words within for even a moment longer. “Would you let me do that? Would you sit and listen?”

Jester nodded slowly, trying to figure out what he had done that made him feel the need to apologize to her so thoroughly. A horrible mental image of Beau, bloody and lifeless and stabbed through the neck, jumped unbidden to her mind, and she thought for a moment she might throw up.

The Gentleman folded his hands in his lap and stared down at them, his gaze growing distant. “I have only ever wanted what is best for you, Jester, you have to believe that,” he said. “Since the day you were born, I have known two responsibilities to which all others are inferior. First, I have had a responsibility to raise you well, to raise you happy. I did not always succeed, early on. I know you suffered, hiding at sea, then in Darktow, and nothing I do or say can ever make up for those years of childhood that you were denied. Still, I feel that I must have done something right in your later years, because you have grown into an incredible young woman, and I could not be more proud of you.”

This wasn’t what Jester had expected. A film of tears was gathering over her eyes as love welled up in her chest. Her dad looked up from his hands and met her eyes, and Jester was astonished to see a hint of moistness to his eyes as well.

“Secondly,” he said, “I have had a responsibility to give you a future. Smuggling was never what I imagined, for either of us, when I first held you in my arms, but legal or not, it is honest work, worthwhile work, work I take pride in. But smuggling isn’t the work I began with, or the work that the Myriad wants me to do. And even I am not so morally bankrupt as to take pride in slavery.

“It is my own arrogance, my own stubbornness, my own willful blindness that let me believe I could hand you an empire built on slavery as a future. You have always been a better person than me, and that is something I am so very proud of you for. But it has also made me frustrated. When your moral resolve conflicted with the future I was trying to create for us, I tried to bring you down to my level instead of rising to yours, and that was unforgivable of me.”

Her dad reached out and clasped one of Jester’s hands between both of his. His voice took on an earnest, intense fervor. “I am not a good man, Jester, and I have not been for a very long time, but I have always meant to be a good father, and I failed. I am so, so sorry for letting you down, and I am sorry that it took me so long to see it. You shouldn’t have had to risk your life for me to see the obvious, and I certainly shouldn’t have needed a lecture from someone half my age to put the pieces together. Please give me another chance to get it right. Please forgive me.”

Jester’s chest seemed to collapse in on itself, and tears overflowed her eyes. “Of course I forgive you Dad,” she said through a sniffling, choked sob, and she flung herself forward, wrapping him in a deep, hard hug. She felt his arms come down around her shoulders and embrace her. His chest shuddered against her face, and Jester felt something wet fall from his face and onto the top of her head. They sat there for a long time, hugging and crying. Jester’s dad stroked her hair slowly, gently, the way he used to on those rare nights when he could safely sneak down into the hold to rock here to sleep.

Eventually, Jester asked, “How did the meeting with Ophelia go?”

Her dad made a face. “She tried to strongarm me,” he said. “She thought that we had invested too much into getting her back onboard to walk away if she insisted on selling us slaves. Fuck her. We were doing just fine without her for months, thanks to you.”

Jester felt herself swell with pride and love. Blinking the tears from her eyes, she gave her dad a roguish grin. “Haven’t you, though?” she asked innocently. “Fucked her, I mean.”

Her dad laughed. “She was mediocre. I won’t miss her.”

“Should we talk business?” Jester asked hesitantly.

“I suppose,” her dad said with a sigh. Her broke the embrace and stood up. “Kara’s been keeping your cell running in your absence. Tomorrow, you should get a full report form her and take back the reins. I’ll have Cree guard you – I need to punish your friends for disobeying my orders, so they’re deep cleaning the whole base tomorrow, and they’ll be skipping their wages for the next month. That was about as lax as I could get and still maintain order.”

“Am I not getting punished?” Jester asked incredulously.

“You’re my daughter; I can get away with going easy on you,” her dad said with a smile. “Besides, I’m going to need your help. We have now burned bridges with the two most powerful families of Shady Creek Run and gone directly against the orders of the Myriad. They are going to come for us, sooner rather than later, unless we can come up with an operation so valuable that they can’t afford to risk disrupting it.” He sighed. “I’m open to suggestions.”

An idea popped into Jester’s head. “Ooh!” she said excitedly. “What if we figured out how to breed tame unicorns? Everyone wants a pet unicorn, but they’re, like, super picky about only letting ‘virtuous’ people ride them, so what if we figured out a way to breed ones that are less judgy? It’d be worth a ton of money, and no one else has ever figured out how to do it!”

Her dad pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have any better ideas yet, so we’ll call that a solid plan C,” he said, sounding thoroughly exhausted.

“Maybe they have something on it at the Cobalt Soul,” Jester suggested. “We could get Beau to look into it for us.”

“Beauregard has a network of irate clients that she left unserviced,” her dad said. “She’s going to be very busy for the next few weeks trying to win them back. She certainly won’t have time to chase down leads on unicorns at the library.”

He let out a long sigh. “We don’t have to figure it out tonight, but we do have to figure it out soon. Keep thinking about it, and don’t hesitate to let me know if you come up with something. I’ll get input from Sorah and Cree also. In the meantime, well, you’ve had a long week. I’ll let you sleep.”

The Gentleman stood up, ruffling Jester’s hair affectionately as he did. “Goodnight, my little Sapphire,” he said softly. He turned to go, but Jester reached out and grabbed his hand. She didn’t want the moment to end; it had been so long since she had just gotten to spend an evening with her dad. It had been so long since they had really felt like a family.

“Dad?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“Would you… would you tell me a bedtime story? Like you used to when I was little?”

Her dad smiled, then sat back down. “Sure. Do you have one in mind?”

Jester hesitated again, then said, “Would you tell me about Mom again?”

The Gentleman’s smile faded, his eyes unfocusing as he stared off into middle distance. Jester immediately regretted her words; he was going to say no, she knew he didn’t like to talk about her mom, it had been years since he’d brought her up, and now she’d ruined the moment, and-

“She was beautiful,” her dad said softly, reverently, his eyes still unfocused, lost in memory. “She was brave, and funny, and so, so clever, much smarter and cleverer than I ever was. She was a singer and a sex worker, and there was no one better at either in all of Nicodranas. That’s not just me talking, either – she’d only been in the business a few years, and she was already famous. They called her the Ruby of the Sea. We were both so young.” He shook his head in gentle astonishment. “I think you’re older now than we were then.”

Her dad continued, his expression fond. “I went to see her, one night, after a particularly good shipping run saw me promoted to quartermaster. I would’ve needed to save up a fair bit to afford her services myself, but I got to see her sing, and I was enchanted. Words can’t begin to describe what I felt when I heard her voice. The power in it, the spell it wove, the emotion it inspired in me…

“I had sung plenty in my time as a rigger, and I knew many shanties and bawdy drinking songs, but I had never known music to have that power. Hearing her sing, it awoke in me an insatiable desire. I wanted my voice to have that kind of effect on people. I began practicing, spending many of my wages on books of music very unlike the rough sailor’s songs I knew. I practiced mostly in private, when I was away from my fellow seamen – I was embarrassed, I suppose, and didn’t want to face their ridicule.”

“You don’t sing anymore,” Jester said wistfully. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sing to me.”

Her dad’s smile was sad and nostalgic. “One of many things I lost to Darktow,” he said. “One night, after one of her performances, I was outside, singing to myself one of the songs that she had sang, trying to figure out a particular progression, when I heard someone behind me sing it perfectly.”

“Was it her?” Jester asked excitedly. She remembered how the story went, but she still found herself totally swept up and enthralled by it.

Her dad laughed. “It was. Her client that night had overindulged and been unable to perform, so she had come out for some air. She offered me a few tips and pointers, sang a few bars with me, and we talked long into the wee hours of the morning, first about music, but then about many other things. I came away from that conversation electrified and deeply, deeply infatuated. I couldn’t wait to see her again, and I could only dare to hope that she would want to see me again.”

“She did, though, didn’t she,” Jester said gleefully.

“She did indeed. That became our routine. Whenever I was ashore and she wasn’t with a client, we would sit outside in the evening air and sing together, practice together, talk about our lives and dreams and interests and everything and nothing. One night, several months after the first, she asked me if I would like to spend an evening with her.

“Is that when you boned the first time?” Jester asked.

Her dad grinned sheepishly. “No,” he said, “I told her that I couldn’t afford to buy a night with her. I was so embarrassed, but she just smiled and asked me if I could afford to buy her dinner. So I did.” His grin turned roguish. “After a week of that, well, _then_ we boned for the first time.”

“We were, ah, not careful,” he said, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. “But we were young and in love, and sure that we would be together forever. When we learned she was pregnant, we began saving immediately, putting aside every coin we could spare so that we could leave Nicodranas and begin our new life together, our new life with you.

“We had picked out a plot of land on Bisaft Isle. We were going to grow fruit.” The Gentleman shook his head and laughed. “After you were born, though, there was a slight complication. My final payday came in short, due to spoiled goods that couldn’t be sold. My ship was to make a long journey next, calling in ports all along Marquet and Tal’dorei. It would have been nearly a year before it returned. Your mother and I decided it would be better for her to work an extra month to make up the shortfall, so I was to go get the house ready for us. I took you with me – it would be hard for her to get clients while caring for an infant – and boarded a ship to Bisaft.”

Her dad sighed. “But life doesn’t always work the way we plan, and you know what happened to that ship before it reached its destination.”

They were both quiet for a long moment.

Jester broke the silence. “Once we were free of Darktow, though, why didn’t you go back? I know it had been eight years, but… don’t you think she would’ve wanted to know that we were alive? Don’t you think she still would’ve wanted to have a life with us?”

“I don’t know, Jester,” he said. “Eight years is a very long time. I was not the same man that I had been, and I doubt that she was the same woman.”

“But – but didn’t you still love her?” Jester asked hesitantly. This was not part of the story; this was something her dad had never been willing to discuss with her before, this after.

It took him a long time to answer. “In a way, I still loved her,” he said finally. “In a way, I still do. But it was because I loved her that I couldn’t drag her into this, this mess of a life we live. I don’t know what has transpired in her life since last we met, but I don’t think it took her in the same direction it took me. I have never wanted to be cruel, and it would be cruel beyond imagining to drag her into this. Better not to reopen old wounds. Better to let her have whatever happiness she has found.”

It was Jester’s turn to be quiet for a long time. It seemed to her that, if she thought her baby and the love of her life lost at sea, that she would rather know eight years later, never mind the dumb details. But she could also see her dad’s point. “I just wish I could meet her, is all,” she said finally.

“So do I.”

They sat together in the aftermath of the story, lost in thought and emotion and memory. Then her dad leaned over and kissed Jester on the head, right between her horns. “Goodnight, Jester.”

“Goodnight Dad. I love you.”

“I love you too, more than you could ever know.”

Her conversation with her dad kept Jester awake long after he was gone. It turned over and over in her mind, details bending and stretching, hypotheticals and what-ifs and details unknown ballooning out into flights of fancy. It still didn’t quite make sense to her, his reasoning for staying away from her mom. He could’ve just told her that they were alive – he didn’t have to drag her into their business. It wasn’t like a single conversation would, like, tie strings to her joints like a puppet or something, forced by them to play their game of smuggling and skullduggery.

Something about that last thought tickled at the back of her mind. Jester frowned.

Then she sat bolt upright, adrenaline and elation pumping through her veins.

She knew how to protect them from the Myriad.

* * *

Getting lectured by rich assholes was really beginning to wear on Beau. If her return to work had taught her anything, it was that people of means took any sort of interruption to their day-to-day lives a personal insult. This meant that Beau had spent her entire first week back soothing wounded egos, handing out discounts, and biting her tongue very, very hard as she listened to wounded tirade after wounded tirade. At least their bullshit gave her a good well of frustration to channel during her training with Yasha.

Even so, it was good to be back in Zadash. She hadn’t realized just how much she had missed the city while they were away, and now that she was back, every little detail about it seemed almost hyper realistic, as if her brain was trying to make up for her time away by drinking in every tiny thing it could find. Beau was surprised to find that, as the week had gone on, this new awareness had only seemed to grow, rather than fading, as she had assumed it would once she became reaccustomed to her surroundings. Perhaps it was just that she was no longer looking at the world through a haze of alcohol.

It was a pleasant surprise to find that not everything sharpened by sobriety was something Beau was going to cut herself on. Whenever she handled Thed’s dagger – still in her boot – she felt a pang of guilt and grief, but sometimes there was something kinder, something nostalgic that leavened the pain. And it wasn’t just her sadness and anger that she felt more keenly; her joy and delight, the mirth from one of Yasha’s deadpan jokes or Molly’s ridiculous tall tales or one of Jester’s pranks or stories or smiles or touches, those she felt more directly too. Before, her happiness had felt like a fog, blanketing everything, hiding the sharp depths of her pain. Now, though, joy and sadness felt… equivalent. Each their own, in their own space. Balanced. Real.

Her newfound clarity made it even more frustrating to spend so much of her time and energy on appeasing assholes, though. It was with great relief that Beau finally made her way back towards the Valley Archive of the Cobalt Soul, bearing their first shipment of goods since she’d returned. They’d been her first visit; Zeenoth had, predictably, been a difficult ass, but she had eventually managed to restore their working relationship, though at the cost of the substantial markup she’d arranged in retaliation for the whole business with the White Peacock.

If Beau was surprised by how much Zadash had come to feel like home, it was nothing compared to the rush of emotion that overwhelmed her when she stepped back through the grand doors of the library. She breathed in the scent of the place, the cool, heavy smells of leather and ink and paper. Standing there, surrounded by the vast shelves, she felt centered. Beau made her way to her usual spot after dropping off her shipment. Since Zeenoth wasn’t there with a new list, she wandered down an aisle and began thumbing through the tomes, looking for something interesting to read while she waited.

The shelf seemed entirely dedicated to divination magic. Beau snorted as she glanced over the collected titles. As far as she was concerned, no one had ever made things better by looking into the future. What better way to ruin your life than trying to twist it to match some foggy vision? And that wasn’t even touching the fake shit that so many charlatans passed off as the real deal. Molly’s fucking cards…

That train of thought only led towards Thoreau, and Beau shut that down quick. She had suffered plenty to escape him – she wasn’t going to waste anymore of her life dwelling on his bullshit than she absolutely had to. She was free; her future was her own.

But what was her future exactly? Beau was sure that any of the books around her would be happy to offer her a shitty opinion on that, but what did she even want? She had friends, stable work, money – or she would once the Gentleman stopped gouging her fucking paycheck. Was that enough?

How long did she have those for? If Beau had had any illusions about the danger of her profession, or the precariousness of her position in the wider criminal world, her visit to Shady Creek had disabused her of them. She’d been a hair away from losing Molly. How long until she actually did lose one of them? How long until she died herself, or was locked away to wait for death?

What did she want, really, when it came right down to it?

Beau’s mind flashed quickly to Jester’s smiling face, and she shook her head hard, dispelling the image. A one-sided crush was not going to shape her life. Jester was Beau’s friend, the best friend she’d ever had, but that was as far as it would ever go, and she needed to accept that. If she was going to let something cloud her judgment that badly, well, she lived above a bar.

Suddenly, Beau became aware of someone standing behind her. She whirled about and came nearly face to face with Dairon.

Beau jumped in surprise, swearing. Dairon merely raised an eyebrow.

“You missed your meeting with Zeenoth,” they said. “He’s slightly upset about it.”

“Shit,” Beau said angrily. She hadn’t meant to get that distracted. “We have a regular meeting time, you know; it’s really his fault for always being late to it. I shouldn’t have to coddle him.”

“He’s the one with the money,” Dairon pointed out. “That’s what matters to you, yes?”

Beau bit back a retort, remembering how close she’d come to death the last time she’d spoken to them. The ease with which they’d taken her down had been terrifying.

“Dairon?” Beau asked suddenly, an impulse overtaking her. “Your monks here. Do any of the techniques you guys do feel, like, a web of energy inside you, or something? Kinda like adrenaline, or blood?”

Dairon’s eyes widened in surprise. “Did you experience something like that?”

“Does that seem like the kind of thing I’d ask about just randomly?” Beau said, vaguely irritated by the dodge.

Dairon’s eyes narrowed again. “You’ve seen too much of our training, I think,” they said. “That is not a secret that outsiders should be able to uncover. You would be wise to find a new place to meet with Zeenoth.” They turned to go.

“Wait!” Beau called after them.

“Zeenoth is in his office, if that’s what you’re wondering,” they called back over their shoulder.

“No, I just – “ Beau’s mouth was suddenly dry. She wanted to back down, but she couldn’t resist the sudden impulse that had overtaken her. “You Expositors, you do good in the world, right? You take down shitty people who deserve it?”

Dairon stopped walking. They turned back towards Beau, gazing at her suspiciously. “We do.”

“Would you, uh.” Beau licked her lips and swallowed hard. “What would you say if I told you I wanted to take you up on that offer you made me? That I wanted to do some tryout missions? Just to see how it felt.”

“I would say you shouldn’t have made your intent so immediately obvious,” Dairon responded scornfully. “I will not put our secret techniques into the hands of an unrepentant, selfish thug.”

“That’s not what this is fucking about!” Beau said, stung. “Look, I saw some fucked up shit while I was away. Maybe I want more than – than to be a selfish thug. Maybe I actually want to do something positive for once in my fucking life.” She stared Dairon down, eyes blazing. “Maybe I want a future.”

Dairon stared back, their eyes boring deep into Beau’s face, piercing into her very soul. “We will see, won’t we?” they said softly.

“Come, Beauregard. Let us test your resolve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shoutout to paladinofselune, who left me a bunch of very nice comments this past week! To all of my lovely readers, please let me know your thoughts and feelings on this messy, messy tangle that I've been building throughout this act. Hope you've enjoyed it!


	20. One Good Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay. Hopefully a nice dose of fluff will make up for it!

Beau’s morning calisthenics were interrupted by the sound of overzealous knocking. With a grunt of effort and annoyance, she unfolded herself from the pose she was holding and clomped over towards the door. She briefly considered changing out of her sweat-soaked workout outfit but decided against it. If someone was comfortable with bugging her at the ass-crack of dawn, they could deal with her nipples showing through her shirt. That was their problem.

Her resolve on the matter lasted until she opened her door to find Jester standing there, already fully dressed and looking excited.

“Hey Beau!” Jester said, “You’re never going to believe what- ” She cut off abruptly as she seemed to process Beau’s appearance for the first time. Her eyes went wide as they drifted down from Beau’s face. “What… um…” Jester kept staring at Beau’s torso, a dark purple flush creeping into her cheeks, and it only then occurred to Beau just how little her workout shirt left to the imagination. The white cotton was soaked in sweat and plastered to her tight enough that she could count her own abs. Beau felt her own face begin to blaze with the heat of a furnace.

“I’ll, uh – give me just a minute,” Beau said, privately wishing she could be shot into the sun. She ducked away from the door and grabbed the first article of clothing she could reach – an old charcoal suit jacket – and pulled it on over the useless piece of fabric that may as well have been painted on for all the good it was doing her.

Beau returned to the doorway, and Jester looked at her with an expression that made her want to die. Jester’s cheeks were still flushed dark, and she looked vaguely as though she’d been concussed. Her lips were parted slightly, and the gaze she fixed on Beau was glassy-eyed and unfocused. Beau silently cursed herself for not bothering to get dressed before opening the door; making Jester uncomfortable had been the absolute last thing she wanted to do.

Eager to end the moment, Beau asked, “What did you need, Jester?”

“Huh?” Jester murmured absently, her expression unchanged. Then she blinked hard once and gave her head a quick shake. Her expression refocused. “I was going to tell you that you have a special assignment today!” she said, once again brimming with excitement. Beau realized that Jester was literally hopping up and down in place.

“Really?” Beau was surprised; she didn’t think the Gentleman had believed her when she told him that she’d finished rebuilding her network of customers. When she'd told him. he’d made some snide comment about how much she’d accomplished in _just_ two weeks that had made her want to break something. Whatever this was had to be important if he was letting her take a break from her normal routine. “What am I doing?”

“You’re going to help me celebrate saving the Troupe!” Jester said, beaming. “I figured out how to protect us from the Myriad, and it’s such a good plan, Beau, it’s going to make us so, so powerful and important, so you’re going to come do a victory lap with me around the city! Please?” she added after a short pause.

“Hang on, is this a day off?” Beau said incredulously. “Are we getting _leisure_?!”

“Maaaaaybe,” Jester said slyly, her smile practically splitting her face open. “Come with me and find out! I don’t want to waste another second!”

“Yeah, yeah okay!” Beau said, a feeling of excitement bubbling up in her chest. “Let me just put on some real clothes. Are you gonna tell me how you’ve saved us from the Myriad?”

“Not if you keep me waiting!” Jester sing-songed. “Meet me downstairs!” She skipped away.

Beau closed the door and started scrabbling around for proper clothes.

* * *

Beau had come to know the streets of Zadash very well by this point, but it was a wholly different experience travelling them with Jester. For one thing, the presence of another person, especially one as talkative and interesting as Jester, prevented Beau from falling into her usual habit of letting her internal monologue wax philosophic as she passively took in the sights around her. For another, Beau was basically never out in daylight except while working. Meandering along the streets without a care in the world as Jester skipped happily ahead to buy a candy apple from a peddler felt entirely different from her normal routine. As they walked down the familiar road that led into the Tri-spire, Beau couldn’t help but feel like she was seeing it for the very first time.

Jester drew back alongside Beau with her treat in hand. She licked her lips and took a big bite out of it. The sound it made as her teeth closed around it was temptingly crisp, and Beau found her own mouth watering. Jester must’ve noticed, because she paused mid-chew to look at Beau, eyes wide and questioning.

Cheeks bulging with fruit pulp, sticky juice all over her lips, and with her teeth half glued together by caramel, Jester asked, “Wan’ some?” She proffered the apple towards Beau.

Beau smiled. She leaned in and took an enormous bite out of the treat. Deliciously sweet, crisp flavors hit her tongue, and for a moment she completely lost herself in the simple joy of it. Then the sharp acid of the fruit registered, and she recoiled, teeth burning in aching agony as the sticky caramel trapped the acid against the enamel, its sugar acting like salt in an open wound. Eyes widening in horror, Beau abandoned any pretense of dignity and shoved her hand into her mouth, desperately scraping at the traitorous caramel that resolutely refused to relinquish its hold on her teeth.

Jester threw back her head and laughed, high and sweet and full of pure, unadulterated joy. Her laugh was like a balm to Beau’s pain and an intoxicant to her brain, and in that moment she felt sure that she would eat a thousand apples, melt her teeth down to tiny, rotten nubs, if it meant she could hear Jester laugh like that even one more time.

They passed through the gate of the district into the open roads and manicured gardens of the Tri-spire. Jester grabbed Beau’s hand and tugged her down a road that she’d never had any cause to travel before.

“Where are we going?” Beau asked, having finally freed her mouth from the accursed candy. She had thought she knew the Tri-spire pretty well by now.

“Well, first we’re going to get breakfast at the best bakery in the city,” Jester said, “and then I guess we’ll figure it out from there! It’s been ages since I just didn’t have things I had to do, you know? So it’ll be really nice to just do whatever sounds fun for a change!”

“Yeah, wow, it’s been… shit,” Beau said, surprised at the realization. “I’ve been, like holding down a day job for months! I’ve been, like, dependable and shit! That’s fucking weird.”

“It’s important to unwind sometimes,” Jester said with mock seriousness. “You’re so married to your job, Beau.”

“I mean, I would probably wind up dead in a ditch if I tried to take weekends off,” Beau said reasonably. “Maybe we should all go on strike.”

“Aww, but then you’d _definitely_ end up dead in a ditch!” Jester pouted. “I would miss you!”

Beau smiled. “I promise not to die in a ditch unless you die in it with me.”

Jester giggled. “We’ll just make the most of today instead, okay? We’re here!”

They came to a stop outside a little storefront that Beau thought was almost absurdly charming. Wildflowers sprouted from the planter boxes secured beneath windows that had been thrown wide open to coax in the breeze. The mouthwatering smells of fresh baked goods wafted out of the windows, the scent so powerful that Beau was almost surprised that she couldn’t see it hanging in the air. A sign hanging over the front door named the shop the Meal Hearth.

“Hey,” Beau said slowly, recognition dawning on her, “isn’t this the place that you sell the flour you use to smuggle stuff past the city guard?”

“Yeah,” Jester said enthusiastically, “they give me a really good discount for that! Come on.”

Beau followed her into the equally cozy interior of the store. Jester marched straight up to the counter without so much as a glance at the contents of the display case.

“Hi! I’ll take four – no, five blueberry cupcakes, and whatever she wants,” Jester said to the man behind the counter. He turned to look at Beau expectantly.

“Um…” Beau quickly scanned the contents of the display case, looking for anything that wasn’t overwhelmingly sweet. How Jester could make a breakfast out of five cupcakes was beyond her understanding; the sugar content would’ve had Beau puking in an alley five minutes later, and that was if she hadn't already eaten an obscene amount of caramel. She settled on a large twist of puff pastry with some sort of brown, meaty-looking filling.

They made their way to a table, Jester awkwardly balancing her cupcakes on her arm, having refused a bag. Beau bit into her pastry, and felt her eyes practically roll back into her head in pleasure as a phenomenally savory, spicy flavor hit her tongue, accompanied by the beautiful texture of flaky, buttery pastry dissolving.

“Told you it was the best in the city,” Jester said smugly. Beau could only moan in agreement as she stuffed more of the impossibly delicious food into her mouth. As Jester sat down, she let out a sharp cry of alarm as her precarious cupcake arrangement collapsed. Most fell safely to the table, but one bounced off of her flailing elbow and began a death spiral towards the floor.

Beau’s recent lesson with Dairon flashed through her mind, and, quick as thought, brought the ki flowing through her body into sharp focus. As the world seemed to slow around her, she extended her hand with a fluid deliberateness that was neither quick nor slow, but rather precisely what it needed to be, and caught the cupcake deftly between her fingers, arresting its fall. She breathed out through her nose, and the pulse of ki faded from her mind.

Beau held the cupcake towards Jester, who had frozen mid-cry, her mouth hanging slightly open in surprise. She looked unfairly adorable. Beau started to make a quip to break the moment, forgetting that her mouth was full of delicious pastry.

While Beau struggled to suppress the ensuing choking fit, Jester let out a delighted laugh. "Holy shit Beau!"

Beau swallowed and opened her mouth to attempt to respond. Before she could, though, Jester leaned forward and took a big bite out of the cupcake in Beau’s hand. A shiver ran through Beau’s whole body as Jester pulled back, licking her lips and smiling. There was a little bit of frosting on her nose.

“So!” Beau said, deeply conscious of how unnatural her voice sounded all of a sudden, and of the burning flush making its way across her cheeks. “What, um, what’s this plan that you’ve made that we’re, uh, that we’re celebrating?” She sat down at the table and began looking around the bakery, trying to find anything to focus on that wasn’t Jester’s face.

Jester leaned towards her, and Beau gave up on her attempts to look away. With a conspiratorial grin, Jester whispered, “It’s pretty simple, actually. We’re going to infiltrate the Cerberus Assembly.”

Beau choked. Again. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I know right!” Jester said excitedly. “I was just thinking about why it was we needed the Myriad in the first place, and it was really just because they were powerful and connected enough to make business connections for us, protect us from reprisals, at least a little bit, and threaten us if we went against them. Well, we’ve been going for years now, so we have our own connections. So we just needed someone to help shield us from reprisal!”

“Yeah, yeah I see that,” Beau said skeptically, “but there have got to be people you can get protection from other than the fucking imperial wizards!”

“Sure, but the Cerberus Assembly are, like, really scary, Beau,” Jester said as if it were a good thing. “They’re one of the only groups I could think of that the Myriad would for sure not cross. And they also provide us a lot of opportunities! You carry the orders from the Halls of Erudition – you know how many controlled and illegal things they buy under the table! Think of the possibilities if we became their go-to suppliers! And that’s not even touching the perks of being in good with some of the most powerful people in the Empire!”

“That’s… I mean, like, how the fuck are we going to do that?” Beau said incredulously. “Stealthy infiltration didn’t go very well for us up north.”

Jester waved the concern away. “This will be a different kind of infiltration, and this time my dad’s on our side. And you’re super good at getting people to buy from us – you can just turn on the charm for this too!”

“Selling people illegal shit is way different from recruiting them into our organization!” Beau insisted. “Tell me you have a plan that isn’t just ‘throw Beau at the problem and let her talk circles around the most dangerous wizards in the Empire’.”

“We’re working on one,” Jester said. She looked at Beau, her expression soft. “We’re not putting this all on you, and we’re not just going to throw you to the wolves. We’ll get a plan in place before we do anything, okay?”

Beau took a deep breath in, held it, and then let it out. "Okay," she said softly. "I trust you." A hint of guilt flickered at the corner of her mind.

They finished their pastries in companionable silence. Beau did her best to keep her attention squarely focused on her breakfast, but she couldn’t keep the memory of her deal with Dairon from intruding.

“I do not expect you to betray your friends to us, Beauregard,” Dairon had said to her, their impassive face showing just the hint of sympathy. “We’re not law enforcement – we don’t generally concern ourselves with common criminals. But it is our purpose to know what is going on in Wildemount, and organizations like yours are often the first to know about things that will affect the future of the whole continent. So if you are to be one of us, you must tell me everything you can about the operations of your group and your business partners.”

“Hold up a minute,” Beau had said angrily. “I agreed to help you root out, like, corrupt officials and slavers and bad shit like that. I didn’t agree to be your narc!”

“And I am not asking you to be!” Dairon had insisted impatiently. “Unless your friends are planning to assassinate the king, I am not interested in bringing them down! But I need to know what they know if we are to find and deal with the true monsters of this world!”

Well, Jester’s plan wasn’t to assassinate the king, but Beau had a funny feeling that Dairon would consider infiltrating the Cerberus Assembly interesting enough to investigate.

Beau did her best to ignore her rising feeling of dread at the thought, pushing it to the back of her mind.

Jester finished the last of her cupcakes and rose to her feet. “Coming?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Beau said, shaking herself slightly and standing up. “What’s next on our celebration circuit?”

Jester gave Beau a grin that was almost wicked. “It’s right next door.”

They exited the Meal Hearth, and Jester drew Beau’s attention to the adjacent shop, which looked just as cozy. Beau glanced up at its sign and read aloud, “Chastity’s Nook.” A smile spread across her face as she looked over to Jester. “Is this where you buy your smut?”

Jester grabbed her hand. “Come on,” she said excitedly, “I’m going to find you something so dirty it’ll blow your socks off.”

Jester didn’t need to pull Beau into this one, but Beau still didn’t let go of her hand.

Beau had never actually set foot in a bookstore before, she realized. She’d been expecting something like the Archive on a smaller scale, maybe with tasteful - or not so tasteful - nude portraits adorning the walls. Instead, she found herself in a space that reminded her of her dad’s private library, except that this one actually looked used and loved. A couple rows of bookshelves filled much of the floorspace, but the rest was occupied by armchairs and benches that looked cushy and extremely comfortable.

No sooner had Beau finished taking in her surroundings than an older, excited looking woman emerged from the shelves and hurried over to Jester.

“Hi Iva!” Jester said enthusiastically.

“Hello, Ms. Panz!” Iva responded with equal enthusiasm. She looked over to Beau, and her face lit up with excitement as she glanced down to where Beau still grasped Jester’s hand. Beau quickly released it, flushing slightly. Her cheeks only grew redder as Iva turned back towards Jester and asked in a tone that was thick with anticipation, “And who is it you’ve brought with you?”

“Oh!” Jester said, “This is Beau! We’re really good friends!”

A knowing, delighted smile spread across Iva’s face. She turned back to Beau. “It’s very nice to meet a special friend of Ms. Panz’s,” she said, and Beau felt her entire face begin to burn.

She opened her to explain to Iva that, no really, they were _just friends_ , but Jester spoke first. “Iva, do you have any books that are just about girls?” she asked carelessly, and it took all of Beau’s willpower to not flee from the room as the expression on Iva’s face solidified into one of tender, loving indulgence.

“Ms. Panz,” she said, gathering herself up with a sense of import, “I have only been waiting for you to ask.” She turned around and hurried away.

Jester clapped her hands together excitedly. “Okay, help me pick out something new while we wait for her to get back with stuff for you? …Beau are you okay? You’re, like, really red.”

“Yeah,” Beau choked out, wishing that Dairon had taught her how to become invisible. “Yeah, totally fine. Let’s find you some hot orc men to read about.”

“I think I’m done with orc men for awhile,” Jester said wistfully, turning to examine the contents of the shelves.

It turned out that perusing a wide variety of profoundly terrible heterosexual porn was exactly what Beau needed to take her mind off things, and she spent the rest of the morning in good spirits as she and Jester laughed together over the contents of _Lord Wagstaff, Gentleman Caller_ and _The Giant of Eiselcross_ , before Jester settled on a book with dramatically chiarascuroed cover art entitled, _The Fall of Purity Convent._ A blurb on the inside cover described it as a “sexual tragedy” about a handsome tiefling slowly working his way through a nunnery. Beau had even managed to ignore Iva’s knowing smile long enough to pick up a volume for herself: _Levia Planestrider in the Palace of Succubi_ , which was apparently the eleventh book in a series of “sapphic adventures across the multiverse”. The prose was hilariously terrible, but the actual smut had made Beau uncomfortably warm beneath her clothes, which had in turn prompted Jester to ask her if she was sure she wasn’t running a fever. Beau couldn’t decide if she was making fun of her or not.

As they exited the shop with their purchases, Jester asked, “Ready for lunch?”

“I could actually wait a little longer,” Beau said. “Kinda want to feel the breeze for a bit, you know?”

Jester’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, I have an idea! Have you ever been to the Platinum Sanctuary?”

“No,” Beau said, confused. “Why would I want to sit around in a stuffy chapel and worship Bahumat?”

Jester wrinkled her nose. “Oh no, I don’t want to worship there! It’s stiff and boring and they have no sense of decorative style!” Jester grinned and pulled a paintbrush out of her pocket. “I want to give them a complementary makeover!”

Beau grinned back at her.

Many hours later, breathless and giddy and still flecked with paint, they sat together on the roof of a building in the Innerstead Sprawl and watched the sky turn pink and gold as the sun dipped below the horizon. Beau felt certain that she had never seen a sunset so beautiful in her life.

She felt Jester lean against her shoulder, and Beau turned to look at her. Jester looked up at her, her face open and tender and beautiful.

“Beau?” she said softly, “I’m really, really glad you’re my friend.”

Beau smiled and said, voice tender and husky, “I’m glad you’re my friend too.”

Jester took her hand, and Beau was sure for a moment that her heart had stopped. She stared down at Jester, helpless and transfixed, waiting for… for something. But Jester looked away, back towards the sunset, and Beau was able to breathe again for just a moment before Jester’s head tilted and came to rest on Beau’s shoulder.

Beau stared straight ahead, overwhelmed by the simple sensation of Jester against her. Her heart was a howling vortex of love and guilt and longing. She knew this wasn’t fair, that it was wrong, that she had no right to sit here and obsess over the feeling of Jester’s fingers on hers or fantasize about running her fingers through Jester’s adorable mess of blue hair or wonder to herself what Jester’s lips would feel like on hers. All Jester wanted was for Beau to be her friend, and in that moment Beau wanted so, so much more than that. She should pull away. She should show Jester that much respect, at least.

But she didn’t, and they sat there together, hand in hand, head on shoulder, until the sun had vanished below the horizon, and the last trace of gold had yielded to blue.

* * *

Cree watched quietly from the corner, waiting until Molly had just sat down with his drink at a table alone. No excuse to avoid her this time – and he had been avoiding her, obviously and without art, ever since he had returned from Shady Creek Run. It was past time she got some answers.

“Mollymauk!” she called to him as she approached. He looked up, first with surprise, then with ill-concealed alarm.

“Cree!” he said with fake enthusiasm. “Didn’t see you there! How are you?”

“Well enough,” she said. “May I sit down?”

“I’m, ah, I’m actually holding this table for a friend,” Molly lied apologetically.

“Am I not a friend?” Cree asked, carefully balancing her voice between lightness and hurt.

“Of course you are,” he said defensively, “but I have some very important stuff to discuss with Yasha. Private stuff.”

“Private stuff,” Cree repeated, deadpan.

“Yes, glad you understand,” said Molly quickly. “Oh, I think I see her over there now! If you’ll excuse me.”

He stood up to leave, and Cree rolled her eyes. Fine; if he wanted to do this the hard way, she would oblige. She focused inward, directing her thoughts towards the dully gleaming fragment of possibility that rested just over her heart, and the world kaleidoscoped open before her. She watched as a thousand phantasmal grey outlines of Mollymauk burst into existence, overlapping each other, each different in infinite subtle ways. Finding the one she wanted, Cree focused hard on it. She felt the fragment pulse with energy for a moment, then it imploded, dragging the rapidly fading timeline she desired towards her and binding it into reality. Her vision recombined, and she was once again standing next to the table where Molly sat.

“Well enough,” she said, answering the question she knew he had just asked. “May I sit down?”

A shadow crossed Molly’s face for a moment, but he said, in a cheery tone, “Of course! Care for a drink?”

“Not at the moment,” she said, carefully taking a seat. “I was, ah, curious about how your trip to Shady Creek went. Is it like you remember it?”

Molly snorted. “Yes and no. You know how chaotic that place is. The more it changes, the more it stays the same.”

“Too true.” Cree smiled at him. “Did you see any of our old friends?”

“We didn’t really have time for social calls.”

“Really?” Cree asked, affecting surprise. “I would’ve thought you would at least make time to check in on Kerrig. I know how close you two were.”

Molly gave a regretful, helpless shrug. “There just wasn’t a good opportunity. I’ll have to pay him a proper visit some other time.”

“I see.” Cree could hear her blood pounding in her ears, the pulse slow and regular. A dark, awful calm spread throughout her body. “I’m curious, then: Who are you, and what have you done with Lucien?”

Mollymauk looked taken aback. He gave a short uncomfortable laugh. “Is it really that hard to believe that I didn’t think it was a good time to reconnect?” he asked. “It’s not as though I wanted to be distant with Kerrig.”

“Kerrig doesn’t exist, Mollymauk,” Cree said calmly. “You have been avoiding me ever since you arrived, and I am only embarrassed that it took me until now to figure out why. I am going to ask you one more time, and if you do not answer me, I will boil your blood from the inside out. _Where. Is. Lucien?_ ”

Molly let out a sigh and sat back in his chair. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” he said. “I’d never heard the name before in my life until I met you.”

The blood pounding in her ears was no longer calm. Cree could not quite keep the rising panic from her voice as she said, “You’re… you’re amnesiac? But how… why?”

“I’m not amnesiac!” Molly said forcefully. “Whoever was in here before, they’re gone. I’m here now, _me_. And thank Sehanine you finally figured it out, because I’ve been losing my mind trying to avoid you! Now it’s out there, and we can get on with things!”

“Wait!” Cree said, suddenly buoyed by a terrible hope. “I might be able to restore your memory!”

“It’s not my memory!” Molly all but yelled. “I am not Lucien, I don’t want to be Lucien, I will never be Lucien! I am Mollymauk Tealeaf! And I’m sorry that your friend died, but he’s not using this body anymore! It’s mine now, and I wouldn’t give it back even if I could!”

A terrible fury exploded through Cree’s chest. “That’s not your decision to make!” she spat, and she extended one hand towards him, her other plunging into a pouch to grasp a small diamond. Molly tried to bat her hand aside, but she grabbed on hard to his forearm, and she channeled a blast of her most powerful curative magic into him, willing it to sear away whatever caul had covered Lucien’s memories. Mollymauk shuddered beneath her grasp as her fingers flashed with a brilliant, bright red light.

Then the light fade, and she felt the diamond crumble to ash. Mollymauk stared back at her, his gaze murderous.

“You tried to kill me!” he hissed, his voice dripping with shock and fury.

“No!” Cree insisted. “I tried to save you! I tried to bring you back!” The room was spinning around her as she struggled to fight back the mounting horror and grief. Not again. Dear gods, not again, please.

Please.

“There’s nothing to save,” Molly spat. “I am not Lucien, and he’s not here! You can’t bring him back by killing me! And if you ever touch me again, if you ever so much as look at me again, I swear I will slice your throat open, and then we’ll see if you can control your own blood as well as you do everyone else’s!”

Cree was barely aware of the scraping of the chair as he departed. Her world was crumbling to dust as the weight of that awful, awful grief, once dulled, once mourned, now fresh and new and aggravated by the sick poison of hope thwarted, bore down upon her once again.

It was too much to bear.

Cree felt her face hit the hard wood of the table as burning, traitorous tears burrowed out of her eyes, scalding her cheeks the whole way down. Her shoulders began to shake, and then she was sobbing in the middle of the Evening Nip, sobbing as she had not even sobbed at Lucien’s grave; for when she had wept then, his grave had been stone and earth, and not a walking shell in which she would forever see her failure and her loss. Cree wept and wept and wept, and there was nothing and no one there to give her comfort.

She was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Act 2.  
> Holy shit I'm halfway done! That is a genuinely insane milestone to have reached, and I'm so grateful to everyone who has stuck with me so far on this incredible journey. I'd like to give shoutouts to ielenia and humanradiohead for giving me consistent feedback throughout this act, and a very special shoutout to Rogue_Bard who's been with me since the very first chapter. Seriously, you guys are the best - I would've given up on this project a long time ago without the wonderful comments provided by you, and by so many others. There is nothing more rewarding than hearing people be excited by what I write, and it really gives me that extra burst of motivation to get through difficult sections.  
> Life's been kicking me in the teeth a bit, so updates are probably going to be inconsistent for a little while. I hope you'll all bare with me.


	21. The Best Laid Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the incredibly late update, I was just *gestures vaguely at everything*

Some of the majesty of the Valley Archive was stolen by the dark, clinging blue of the hour before dawn, which Beau supposed fit the circumstances pretty well. The way she crept from shadow to shadow, slowly circling the building towards the hidden trapdoor that Dairon had instructed her to use didn’t exactly make her feel majestic.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar route – she’d skulked through the grounds of the library many times in the months since she’d begun her work with the Expositors. As ever, Beau found the trapdoor unlocked, but so well hidden that she never would’ve found it if she hadn’t been shown. It opened without so much as a creak, and after a quick glance around, she dropped down into the small basement chamber below.

The contrast between this dismal root cellar and the magnificent edifice above it never failed to draw a snort of laughter from Beau – the comparison between the library and the Evening Nip was just too delicious. Here, beneath a grand façade on the surface, lay a small, dirt-walled, dirt-floored, cramped and gloomy room, completely empty of furnishing or comfort. Beau immediately shifted into a defensive stance as she entered, ears pricking and eyes scanning. Sometimes Dairon liked to begin these meetings with a lesson, and Beau was not keen to water the hard-packed dirt beneath with any more of her blood if she could help it.

But there was no ambush tonight. Dairon was standing calmly in the center of the room, waiting, their expression as impassive as ever. They met Beau’s eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Your stance has improved,” they said. “I’m glad to see you’ve been practicing.”

“Thanks,” Beau said, relaxing as much as she ever did around Dairon. Working with them for weeks had done nothing to make them less intimidating, or to make this side job feel any less traitorous.

Underscoring that emotion, Darion said, “I understand your infiltration of the Cerberus Assembly is to begin in a few days?”

Beau winced. “Yeah,” she said.

It had taken Dairon only a week to determine that Beau had been holding something big back from them, and only another week of careful and pointed questions to draw enough from her that they’d pieced together the truth. Beau had expected a fight then and there, or an immediate attack on the Troupe, but Dairon had done neither.

“The Cerberus Assembly has long been corrupt,” they had said pensively when Beau had finally confessed. “If this plan of the Gentleman’s comes to fruition” – Beau resisted the urge to correct them, that it was Jester’s plan – “then you will be incredibly well placed to help us prove it. Maybe you will even be able to help us bring it down.”

“And you’re not going to take my friends down for this?” Beau had asked skeptically.

“I told you once, and I’ll tell you again. My concerns – our concerns – are bigger than the activities of a group of smugglers,” Dairon had said exasperatedly. “If you are to ever truly become an Expositor, you must try to learn to trust me.”

So Beau had tried.

“Tomorrow afternoon we’re having a final planning session,” she said. “Just to hammer out the final details and make sure we’re all on the same page. You want me to loop you in tomorrow night?”

Dairon shook their head. “I won’t be here,” they said. “The Soul has asked me to look into some very important concerns to the south, and they cannot wait.”

Beau felt an unpleasant twist in her gut. “So that’s it?” she asked, her voice shaking. “All those tests, all those small jobs, all those speeches about being part of something bigger, and now you’re just hanging me out to dry?”

“Don’t be ridiculous Beauregard,” Dairon scoffed. “You have proven yourself more than competent, and I have complete confidence in your ability to handle yourself in my absence. Nor will you be deprived of any of the resources I have been providing. A different Expositor will be waiting here tomorrow night to receive your report and offer you any support you need.”

“Oh,” Beau said, feeling suddenly ridiculous. She scuffed the floor awkwardly with her foot. “Good luck, then, I guess? What are they having you do?”

“Unfortunately, that is privileged information,” Dairon said. “But perhaps when I return, if your mission has gone well, you may be in a position to be trusted with more sensitive matters.” They paused for a moment, apparently considering something. Then they asked, “In your time smuggling, has a dodecahedron passed through your possession? It would be a bit larger than your fist, pulsing with grey light.”

Beau thought for a moment. “No,” she said. “Why, what is it?”

Dairon shook their head. “A pity, that might’ve been helpful. It’s an artifact of great and strange power, and it is known to cause disturbances similar to the kind I am investigating. While at the Halls of Erudition, keep your eyes open for anything that might fit that description. We have reason to believe that the Cerberus Assembly has at least one.”

“You want me to try to steal it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, they’d kill you on the spot,” Dairon said with a certainty that Beau found deeply offensive. “But note its location, and convey that information to my replacement.”

Beau shrugged. “Whatever,” she said, “but I bet I could manage just fine.”

Dairon gave a half snort. Then they stepped forward and laid a hand on Beau’s shoulder. She stiffened, braced for some sort of ki-tearing attack, but Dairon just said, “Take care of yourself, Beauregard. I will look forward to hearing your report in person.”

“Uh, yeah, you too,” Beau said, taken aback. Dairon gave her a quick pat, then stepped past her to the ladder, and climbed back up into the night.

Beau looked around the empty room and tried to let the coil of tension in her gut unwind. The dirt walls failed to offer her any comfort, though; if anything, she felt like they were closing in on her.

This situation was untenable, Beau was sure of that. For all of Dairon’s assurances, Beau knew that the Cobalt Soul was a respected, legitimate institution of the Empire, and legitimate institutions of the Empire weren’t going to look the other way while their prospective members flagrantly and regularly broke dozens of the Empire’s laws. Even if Dairon could be taken at their word, Beau knew what the Gentleman would think of her working for them. She could already picture his sneering face, his cold accusations of betrayal. She tried not to picture a look of stunned hurt breaking across Jester’s face.

Beau knew she should just walk away. Give up on her ridiculous fantasy of being a force for good in the world and get back in line. Be grateful for the place of honor she’d found in the Troupe, be grateful for the friendships she had somehow lucked into. Her work for the Gentleman had brought her more satisfaction and security and happiness than she’d ever had before in her life. Somehow, though, it still wasn’t enough. Somewhere in the bowels of the Sour Nest, Beau had come face to face with something too horrible to ever be looked away from again.

She wished Dairon wasn’t leaving; maybe they would have been able to set Beau’s fears at ease. Not that she wanted or needed comforting, of course, but Dairon’s unrelenting fairness, their patience and dedication to the ideal of doing _right_ had earned from Beau a respect, maybe even an admiration, that she’d never felt for anyone before. She felt that she could trust Dairon, at least enough to ask for their advice as her infiltration mission got ever dicier, her feelings ever more conflicted. It wasn’t too hard to imagine airing some of her feelings to Dairon when she came here to deliver her report.

But Dairon wouldn’t be here the next time she delivered her report. It would be a stranger, some other authority figure of the Cobalt Soul, and Beau didn’t trust authority figures.

Unable to calm the competing desires tearing at her chest Beau spat on the floor, then cracked her neck, scowling at the wall angrily. She didn’t want to feel a moral duty to fix her fucked up world. She wanted to spend her days laughing and carousing with Yasha and Molly, and most of all with Jester. She wanted to be happy. And at the moment, she wanted a drink.

But when had she ever gotten what she wanted?

* * *

The new meeting room was spotless. Fresh rugs covered the floors and fresh tapestries the walls, hiding the stains of rust that were all that remained of the cages that had once filled the room. Jester paced restlessly in front of the polished wooden table, unable to rest easily in the high-backed, well-cushioned chair that she had set up for herself behind it. Yasha leaned against a nearby wall, her face betraying none of the nerves that currently plagued Jester. Jester admired her composure; the only uncertainty she’d shown was whether or not her job as a bodyguard required her to match Jester’s pacing path. She’d been able to distract herself for a few minutes by letting Yasha try to shadow her as she deliberately made her path as complicated as possible, jumping from chair to chair and crawling under tables, but even that had not been able to calm the storm of anxiety raging in her stomach.

Jester came to a sudden stop and let out an enormous, shaky breath, before taking in one just as enormous and shaky. Meditating seemed to help Beau sometimes – maybe it would do something for her? But one more breath in and out did absolutely nothing to calm her, so she went back to pacing.

“Hey,” Yasha said softly, her voice steady and calming, “you’re going to do great. You’re a great speaker, and it’s a great plan.”

Jester nodded. “Those are both true,” she said, far more hesitantly and uncertainly than she’d meant to.

Yasha gave her a reassuring look, and Jester thought she might be about to say something, but the heavy iron door to the room inched opened, and Kara peeked her head through the crack. “They’re here,” she said. “Are you ready for them?”

Jester pushed her face into a smile. “Of course!” she said, and was relieved to hear how much confidence she'd been able to force into those words. With a heave, Kara swung the door entirely open, and the Gentleman swept into the room, flanked by Molly and Beau, and shadowed by Sorah.

The Gentleman’s gaze flicked around the room quickly, his expression shrewd, but when his eyes met Jester’s, he favored her with a rare, genuine smile. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” he said.

“Thanks!” Jester said brightly, not missing Beau’s hastily suppressed eyeroll. Beau obviously mistrusted her father’s change of heart, but was doing her best to conceal that fact from Jester, for which Jester was oddly grateful. “I got a really good price on the cages from the Shuttered Candle – they were looking to expand the kind of experiences they offer.”

Her dad looked surprised. “I can’t believe the Madam was even willing to meet with you,” he said. “I never expected her to forgive you.”

Jester’s smile widened at the memory. “Well, I wouldn’t say she’s forgiven me exactly,” she said, chuckling slightly. “She refused to let me back into the brothel in person. I had to send Kara as an intermediary, and Yasha to make sure she didn’t get cheated.”

“Well,” the Gentleman said with a mocking half bow towards Kara, “thank you both for taking on such a challenging assignment. I can’t imagine how _hard_ it must’ve been.”

“We’re happy to do whatever job you ask of us,” Kara answered with perfect deadpan.

Yasha looked up at the ceiling awkwardly. “There were, um, a lot of things for me to keep an eye on,” she said, a blush creeping into her pale cheeks.

Molly laughed. “We should get you back there when you’re off-duty sometime, if you’re ready. It could be good for you to start putting yourself out there again.”

“You know, I’ll think it over,” Yasha said, her voice rising in pitch and her blush intensifying.

“Please do! I need a new friend to go with since _someone_ – “ Molly leaned over and elbowed Beau in the ribs, “has stopped coming out with me.”

“Ow!” Beau said, flinching away. “Come on man, you don’t need a babysitter to get laid!”

“I can’t believe you, of all people, are impugning the buddy system,” Molly said. “You’ve barely gone out with me since we came back from Shady Creek! Did you take a vow of celibacy or something?”

Jester furrowed her brow, suddenly confused. “If you haven’t been going with Molly, where have you been in the evenings?” she asked. “I’ve tried to find you to play cards a whole bunch, but you weren’t around!”

“I have more interests than fighting or fucking, okay!” Beau said heatedly. She looked really amped up for some reason.

Jester pursed her lips contemplatively. What was Beau doing that she didn’t want to talk about? What could be embarrassing enough to warrant that?

“If you’re quite finished,” the Gentleman said sardonically, “I think the actual topic of our meeting might be almost as important ribbing your friends.”

“Right!” Jester said, her stomach lurching as her nervous energy rose to a fever pitch. “Kara, tell everyone they’ve got the rest of the day off. We’ll see you back at the Evening Nip.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Kara said with a slight smile. She slipped out of the room, the door closing behind her with a heavy thunk.

They waited in silence until the normal sounds of the hustle and bustle of the base faded away. Her dad had insisted on as close to absolute secrecy about the infiltration plans as possible – only the people directly involved in them would be told. Their situation was beyond precarious; until they had secured their alliance with the Cerberus Assembly, Myriad assassins might come knocking on their door at any time. And if word leaked to the Cerberus Assembly about their plans, well, that would spell doom just as certainly.

They’d had a long argument over whether to even allow their bodyguards access to this meeting. After arguing in circles for hours about the practicality of keeping such a big secret from people who were around them at all times, Jester had let her temper get away from her. “If Yasha worked for the Myriad, I’d be dead already!” she had snapped. “I trust her, and you can say whatever you want, Dad, but I know you trust Sorah.”

None too gracefully, her dad had ceded the point.

With a palpable effort, Jester forced herself to sit down. The others followed suit. Molly kicked his feet up carelessly onto Jester's desk and stared idly cleaning beneath his fingernail. Her dad discarded his normal easy mask and fixed Jester with an intense, serious stare that seemed to magnify the already crushing pressure she felt. She looked away from him and towards Beau, who had settled into a relaxed but attentive posture. She looked up and caught Jester’s eye. Her expression was worried, but she must have seen that worry reflected in Jester’s own face, because her lips twitched into a familiar smirk that made her eyes twinkle. It wasn’t the kind of look that most people would call friendly, but it instantly made Jester feel a thousand times lighter.

Yasha took up her familiar position a few steps back from Jester’s left side, and Sorah leaned against the heavy iron door. She pressed her ear against it, listening carefully, before looking to Jester and nodding.

“Okay!” Jester said, clapping her hands together. “We’ve told you all that we have a plan to secure our future against the Myriad by getting in good with the Cerberus Assembly. We’ve finished ironing out the details and are ready to tell you what you’ll all be doing in Operation: Evil Wizard Friends.”

“We’re not calling it Operation: Evil Wizard Friends,” the Gentleman said exasperatedly.

“Hey, it’s my plan, not yours! I get to name it!” Jester said. “Besides, you’re the one who struck down Operation: Fluffernutter.”

“It’s not too late to go back,” Beau interjected.

The Gentleman threw up his hands in defeat. “Operation: Evil Wizard Friends it is.”

“Okay, so,” Jester said, “Basically we’re going to be infiltrating the Halls of Erudition to try to get people loyal to us in positions of power there so that we’ll have a bunch of dangerous wizards with government positions looking out for us, and also maybe buying more things from us than they already do! So we’re going to enroll you two in classes!”

Molly looked up. “Come again?”

“Yeah!” Jester said, buoyed on by nervous excitement. “You guys are gonna take a two-pronged approach! Beau has already had dealings with a few of the faculty, so that’ll give her an edge up. She can take advantage of that weird power dynamic to start identifying and working on any staff that seem open to corruption, or that would be vulnerable to carrot-and-stick tactics. Molly, you’ll work on the general student body, try to find people that you can get your hooks into, and we’ll use our resources to help lift them up so that they move on to positions of authority and are able to support us from there! We’ve called in some favors to secure you letters of recommendation, so you’ll both be starting in three days!”

Jester looked between her friends. “Any questions?” she asked.

“Um, a few,” Beau said, sounding slightly alarmed. “I don’t know if this just slipped your mind, what with everything that’s been going on, but I can’t do magic.”

“And my magic isn’t wizard shit,” Molly added.

“I don’t see any problem with that,” the Gentleman said. “We’re sending you to a magic school. What better place to learn?”

“Okay, but they do, like, aptitude tests and shit before they let people in,” Beau said. “Did you fake those too?”

“Maybe a little bit,” Jester admitted, “but I’m sure you can do it! You’re really smart and clever and good at learning things, and wizard magic is all book learning, I think. You’ll be fine.”

“Hmm,” Beau said, cocking an eyebrow at her roguishly. “Tell me more good things about me.”

“What about me?” Molly said, sounding aggrieved. “Aren’t you going to reassure me about how well I’ll be suited to magic school?”

“I think you’ll do great, Molly,” Yasha offered.

The Gentleman let out an exasperated sigh. “We wouldn’t be putting you forward for this job if we didn’t think you could take it. Our position is far too precarious for this to go awry.”

“Or you could just be desperate,” Molly pointed out. “Maybe you think we’ll fuck up and get imprisoned or killed, but you’re just as screwed if you do nothing, so why not roll the dice with our lives?”

Jester felt a surge of panic rising up the back of her throat. “We’d never do that to you!” she insisted.

Molly raised an eyebrow skeptically and pointedly glanced between Jester and the Gentleman.

Jester turned desperately to Beau. “Beau, you know I’d never do that to you! To either of you!”

Beau regarded her coolly for a moment, and Jester felt her heart split in half. Then Beau’s face twisted into a rueful smile. “No, you wouldn’t, of course you wouldn’t,” she said softly, and it sounded as though she were half talking to herself. “And you wouldn’t let him do that to us either.”

Beau shifted in her chair and leaned forward towards Jester. “I’ll do it,” she said, and Jester felt a relief in her chest like a noose being untied. “Besides, all of you can do some dope magic shit. I’ve never liked being left out.”

Yasha frowned. “I’m not magical,” she objected.

“Are you kidding?” Beau asked incredulously. “You’ve got your whole ‘Angel of Darkness’ routine that you can pop out whenever you want, and your touch literally heals people.”

“Those aren’t trained or conscious or anything,” Yasha protested. “They just sort of happen.”

“Sure, but I don’t have anything like that. I literally just punch things kinda okay,” Beau said. “It’ll just be nice to level the playing field a bit is all.”

Jester turned towards Molly. “Will you do it?” she asked, a quaver of trepidation coloring the question.

Molly let out a long sigh. “I’ve never been the one to ruin a good time before, and I don’t really want to start now. I’ll give it a shot.”

And just like that, the weight on Jester’s shoulders was gone. A smile of unfettered relief split across her face. “Okay,” she said. “Okay!”

“This’ll be my first time on this side of the business,” Molly said. “How does Beau normally handle orders and deliveries? Do I just bring reports back to the Nip?”

“Normally you would,” the Gentleman said, “but given the situation, we can’t risk either of you being followed back to us by the Cerberus Assembly. Jester will send you check in messages, and we’ll use that to arrange deliveries and drop-offs. Otherwise, there will be no contact between you and us.”

“Wait,” Beau said, frowning. “We’re just going to be operating on our own? No returning to base, no direct support from anyone but each other?”

“You two shouldn’t even contact each other,” the Gentleman stressed. “No one should know there is any connection between you two until our plan is finished. The Halls of Erudition are a boarding school – it would draw unnecessary attention if you two disappeared overnight regularly, and we can’t afford for our hand to be detected in this. Maybe in a few months, if you’re successful at recruiting a few key members of the academy, it could be safe enough to make direct contact again. But we’ll have to wait and see.”

“Shit,” Beau said. She leaned back in her chair, her expression strange. “It makes sense, I guess, but shit. I don’t… fuck, okay.”

“It won’t be so bad!” Jester said, reaching across the table to give Beau’s hand a reassuring squeeze. Beau started at the contact, but didn’t pull away. “I’ll send you messages like every day. And I bet there will be tons of cool stuff to do and people to meet!” For a moment, Jester pictured Beau laughing with a group of faceless strangers, open and affectionate. She crushed the strange flicker of jealousy that the image evoked.

“If neither of you have any more questions about the general scope of the plan, then we can close this meeting,” the Gentleman said. “We’ll be speaking with you each individually in the next couple of days about the finer details of your specific roles.”

“Fantastic!” Molly said, hopping to his feet. “Maybe if we hurry back we’ll still catch dinner.”

The Gentleman rose as well. “Seamus will make more if I tell him to,” he said. “There are some benefits to being in charge.”

“Yeah Molly, there’s no rush,” Beau said, smirking. “I personally think that you guys explained the plan way too fast. Could you give me all that again at one-quarter speed?”

Molly’s stomach audibly rumbled. Jester laughed.

“You know, it could be nice to take the long way back today,” she suggested. “I bet the snowstorm earlier will have made the town super pretty.”

The Gentleman frowned. “I shouldn’t have to explain to you how dangerous it is for us to be out in public right now. Even if it wasn’t, the guard cause me more trouble than it’s worth.”

“There’d be no way for anyone to predict that we’d pick right now to take a walk!” Jester protested. “This is gonna be the last time we’re all going to be together for months, and we’re all, like, really strong, and we could totally take any assassins that come after us right now.” Jester clasped her hands together and gave her dad the best pleading eyes she could muster.

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “It’s going to be so cold…”

* * *

Zadash was not a city that winter was usually kind to. Often the snow that fell quickly melted into a grey, dirty slush, ground into the cobble by countless boots and wagon wheels. This evening, though, with the sky grown dark and the city beginning to slumber, was an exception. A thin white coating adorned the eaves of every building they passed, and a light drift of fluffy white flakes fell, the light of the streetlamps glinting beautifully off of them, contrasting sharply with the black heavens above. Looking up was enough to make Jester feel like she was racing into those heavens at an incredible speed. It was exhilarating.

A flake landed on her nose, pleasantly cool against her skin, and she giggled, trying to stick her tongue out far enough to lick it up. It felt good to laugh about something so simple. After the long weeks of planning, of late nights and stress nightmares, it felt like exactly what she needed. She knew it wasn’t over, not even close. At best this was the calm before the storm. But it was still a calm. Jester would enjoy it while she could, and she would hope that the next calm, the one that came when they had gained the protection of the Cerberus Assembly, would last a little longer.

It wasn’t the way Jester wanted to live, not really. Hopping from shady situation to shady situation, precariously balancing between what moral compromises she could and couldn’t live with, barely one step ahead of powers so much greater and hungrier than her – well, it was a lot more fun to read about than to live. It would be nice, she thought, to live in a different kind of story, one that was less murky, one where she spent more time among the wonders of Exandria, and less time posturing and threatening and backstabbing.

Still, if this was the way her life was going to be, Jester was glad she at least got to share it with people she loved.

Her gaze drifted towards Beau. Jester desperately wanted to walk over and talk to her – she’d been so stressed and so busy, she’d had so little time, and Beau hadn’t been around in the evenings – but she couldn’t bare to interrupt Beau’s revery. She was looking around like someone in a dream, one hand extended, palm up, to catch snowflakes as they fell. Jester watched as Beau’s eyes tracked the trajectory of a single flake down into her palm, her eyes drinking in its every intricate detail even as it melted back into a single drop of water. Jester’s fingers itched with the desire to paint her, to light her up dramatically against a black background speckled white, with just a shimmer of icy blue…

Even as they continued to walk, Jester could not bring herself to approach Beau. The cheerful chatter of Molly and Yasha behind her seemed as quiet and muted as the gentle murmur drifting back from her dad and Sorah as they walked arm in arm down the road several feet ahead. It felt for all the world as though Jester was alone, peering through a pane of glass into a beautiful, impossible world where Beau’s face was unlined with mistrust or betrayal, where something as simple as snow in the city could wipe away every wrong she’d ever suffered. Reverence was not an emotion that Jester was familiar with, but she felt as though she was witnessing something sacred.

It was Sorah who broke her trance, only a block away from the Evening Nip. The goliath woman had come to a sudden stop, her eyes widening in alarm. “Do you smell that?” she asked the group.

Jester sniffed the air, and a slightly acrid scent tickled the back of her throat.

“Wood smoke,” Yasha said, sounding confused. “But you don’t do cookfires like that in Zadash. What-“

A thunderous BOOM exploded through the street, a wave of searing heat and crushing pressure slamming into Jester like a club, sending her staggering. She quickly regained her feet, but struggled to regain her bearings as she tried desperately to make sense of the blazing orange light that had rent the sable sky asunder, reflecting off a pillar of smoke that now towered over her. The soft muted sounds of the falling snow had dissolved before the fierce crackling that now seemed to drown out everything else. The heat was blistering against Jester's skin. The flames must either be very close or absolutely enormous – she couldn’t seem to get her eyes to resolve the plume of smoke into any particular scale.

A strangled yell rang out, and Jester realized with a start that it had come from the Gentleman. The harsh shadows cast by the light transformed the expression of shock and terror on his face into something truly unhinged. He turned on his heel and ran forward, rounding the corner and rushing towards the blaze. Jester raced after him.

She didn’t have to run far. With no buildings between her and the inferno, the heat was almost unbearable, the light so bright as to wash away all other sights. Her father stood silhouetted against it, his back to her, snow falling like pale ash around him as he stared into the apocalyptic tower that had consumed the Evening Nip. Pale fingers of flame raked through the hollow shell of the building that had been their home, boards tearing and shattering beneath the fire’s grasp.

An overpowering urge overtook Jester, an insane impulse to rush in, to try to save _something, there had to be something she could save, her whole life was in there_. Some scrap of clothing, some treasured painting, some old sketchbook, some novel, _something_. But the heat was like a brick wall, the crackling roar like a hurricane wind, and she couldn’t take a step. The smell of smoke was curling around her like an evil spirit, flowing into her and through her, filling her nose and mouth and lungs with its heavy acid scent of old, beer-soaked wood and cooking meat.

Cooking meat…

The horrible epiphany hit Jester harder than the blast wave had. “They’re all here!” she choked. “Everyone! I sent everyone ahead to wait for us, to meet us here! They’re here and they’re burning!”

Jester took a step forward, ignoring the way her skin screamed in protest, the way her hair began to char, reaching for the dragon’s maw that had once been the front door, when something hard clamped down on her wrist and yanked her back. She spun about, ready to attack whatever foe had come upon her unseen, and came face to face with her father. Clouds of steam rose around him, the moisture of his skin evaporating in the heat. His eyes were dry, yellow and bloodshot, and when he spoke his voice was barely a rasp.

“Jester…” he said, and the word was a plea that could not be ignored, a prayer that could not go unanswered.

She allowed her father to drag her away from the mouth of hell and into his embrace, collapsing with him to a ground slick with melted snow. Feet pattered on stone around her, and Jester heard Beau swear softly, and Molly loudly.

“Guards up!” Sorah shouted over the infernal din. “We’re not safe here!”

“There’s someone in there!” Yasha yelled. “Someone moving!”

Jester looked up in surprise, squinting against the blinding blaze, and she saw a black shape within the building, looking lopsided and inhuman. She focused harder, and the image resolved itself into Cree, fur smoldering, and something – someone – slung over her shoulder. Cree surged frantically, desperately forward, trying to break through the conflagration, but her haste took her right into the path of an enormous, collapsing structural beam, and Jester cried out in alarm, but she must’ve blinked or something, because one moment Cree was about to be crushed and the next she was past it, diving out of the front door and onto the street. The person she was carrying tumbled limply to the ground and began to cough weakly as Cree began rolled vigorously, almost manically, on the ground until the last of the embers in her fur had been extinguished.

Molly reached down and offered her a hand. Cree grasped it, and he pulled her to her feet. Once she was standing, she looked Molly in the eyes and started, before angrily throwing his hand aside.

Jester freed herself from her father’s embrace and crawled towards the person Cree had rescued, who was now taking slow, rattling breaths. Jester realized with a jolt of almost hysteric relief that it was Kara, covered in soot and blood, but alive. She let out a joyous cry and reached to embrace her.

“Don’t,” Cree snarled, her voice ragged and hoarse. “She did this.”

Jester froze, staring at Cree dumbly as her mind struggled to process her words. “She did this?”

“I found her by the sewer entrance, crouched over a coil of fuse,” Cree said, her affect flat, her voice devoid of inflection. “When I asked her what she was doing, she lit it and attacked me.”

Kara made a feeble hacking sound, and a glob of blood and mucus fell from her lips and onto the stone with a wet smack. “You should have been back,” she wheezed. “You should have been back way before I was discovered. What the fuck took you so long?”

“We went for a walk,” the Gentleman said coldly.

“Fuck,” said Kara, shaking her head. “Fuck. All that planning, all my precautions, and you decided to take a fucking walk?”

“It was a nice night out,” said Yasha, just as coldly.

“How could you do this, Kara?” Jester asked. A terrible, painful ache pulsed within her, radiating up from her stomach, through her chest and into her neck, constricting her throat. The world seemed to blur around her, and she felt as though she were drowning. “I trusted you! They,” she paused, faces flashing through her mind, Dweez and Seamus and Clive and so many others, people she’d known for years, all burning, “they trusted you!”

Kara gave an incredulous, rasping bark of laughter. “Trust? Tell me you aren’t really that naïve, Sapphire. You have to know how this game is played by now. Then again, maybe if you had, you would’ve known better than to cross the Myriad.”

Jester’s mouth moved soundlessly for a moment. It was all too much. “You…”

“I’ve said all I plan to,” Kara said with another shuddering cough. “Unlike you, I know better than to disobey them.”

The Gentleman got to his feet slowly, looking down at Kara dispassionately. “There are some things we need to know from her if we’re going to proceed,” he said coolly.

“The… the Traveler showed me a trick to help with getting information,” Jester offered shakily. She silently called forth a burst of magic which surged into the ground beneath Kara, expanding rapidly outwards and driving away falsehood. “It won’t make her talk, but she can’t lie.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Kara said arrogantly.

“I’d reconsider that,” Molly said, his voice shivering like the spine of an unsheathed sword. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’ve had a really bad evening. Tell us what we want to know, and maybe we’ll feel kindly enough towards you to let you crawl away with your life.”

Kara let out a wet, feeble laugh. “I don’t believe you.”

“What have you got to lose?” Cree asked.

Kara hesitated. “Fine,” she said. “Dead later is better than dead now. Ask your questions.”

“Who sent you?” the Gentleman asked.

“Trianna,” Kara replied.

“Shit.”

“Who’s Trianna?” Beau asked.

“The boss of the Myriad in Nicodranas,” the Gentleman answered. “My direct superior. She was the one who brought me into the Myriad in the first place. She’s the one who insisted that I start selling slaves again.” His expression became pensive, thoughtful. “This kind of spectacle isn’t her style, though. Why would her retaliation be this destructive and dramatic? Why didn’t you just kill me and my daughter and install someone else as the head of the operation?”

Kara snorted. “We shouldn’t have even needed to lift a finger. The moment you started prioritizing your pathetic moral hang-ups over their profits, your people should’ve torn you limb from limb. But they didn’t; they went just as soft as you. Better to make an example of you all and start over fresh.”

“I see.” The Gentleman pursed his lips. “That actually answers most of what I needed to know. Just one more thing. Is anyone else here working for the Myriad?”

An hour ago, the idea would’ve been absurd to Jester. But she waited with bated breath, her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest as she avoided looking at any of the people closest to her. Waiting to find out just how much of a trusting idiot she'd really been.

Kara shook her head. “No.”

The Gentleman nodded once. “I have everything I need. Anyone else?”

Everyone was silent.

“Wonderful,” Kara said sarcastically. “So do I live or die?”

“If we let you live, where would you go?” Beau asked. “What would you do?”

Kara seemed to consider for a minute. “Well, I’ve just spilled my guts to you, and failed to kill you, so I can’t go back to the Myriad. It’s only a matter of time until word gets out, and then I’m dead on sight. There won’t be a city safe for me anywhere in Western Wynandir. Maybe I’ll enlist in the Righteous Brand, then desert somewhere in Xorhas. Try to find a ship that can take me to Vasselheim. The Myriad doesn’t have much presence there.”

Jester’s eyes widened incredulously, and Kara snorted. “It’s not like you’re all going to have better options. Since I won’t be reporting back, and word of the explosion will definitely reach them quickly, you might have a couple weeks where they think your dead already. But the longer I go without reporting back, the more suspicious they’re going to get. Eventually they’ll put out another hit on you, and then you’ll be just as doomed as me.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Molly said.

“Well?” Kara demanded.

The Gentleman looked to Jester. “She was your second,” he said. “It should be your decision.”

“Yeah,” Jester said. “Yeah, it should be.”

She stared down at Kara for a long moment, feeling the swirl of emotion in her chest build and build until she could barely take it. There was no question in her mind about what to do.

Kara must’ve seen that certainty in her eyes, because her expression hardened. “Fine,” she spat. “Fine. Fuck you, Sapphire. Fuck y-“

The clang of a bell rang out in the night. Kara collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, the crushed ruin of her face hit the ground with a wet thwack, black ooze leaking everywhere.

Jester took her hand off her holy symbol, letting the last vestige of the spell fade away. Tears welled at the corner of her eyes, tears of hurt and sorrow and betrayal and fury, and her face began to twist with the effort to hold them in. “I hate this,” she whispered, so softly that she was sure no one else could hear her. “I hate this.”

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to see Beau, looking at her with an expression full of sorrow and compassion. Beau gave her a soft squeeze. “Hey,” she said, her voice almost husky. “You okay?”

It was all too much. Jester flung her arms around Beau, squeezing her into a tight hug as she buried her face in her shoulder, a single, painful sob tearing free from her body. Beau hugged her back, just as tight, and Jester felt the awful coil of emotion in her chest loosen enough under the pressure of Beau’s affection to release one more sob.

But only one more. Hers was not a world that forgave weakness, even for a moment. She’d let her guard down, let people in, and this was what it had brought her. She never should’ve let herself get attached to anyone but her dad.

No, that wasn’t true, she reminded herself. Jester hugged Beau even tighter. She had let Beau in, and that was worth any amount of pain that anyone else threw at her. Beau was her friend, for real, and she would never, ever betray her. Neither would Molly or Yasha, Jester was sure of it. As sure as she was of anything.

“Thank you,” she whispered into Beau’s shoulder, and she hoped that Beau would know how much she meant by those two tiny words. Then she pulled away, wiped her eyes, and turned towards her dad.

"Now what?" she asked. "We have no base to infiltrate from, no resources to offer the Cerberus Assembly. What can we even do?"

No one seemed to have an answer to that. Beau's brow was furrowed in contemplation. Yasha and Molly exchanged a tired look. Cree turned her head and spat. Sorah looked at the Gentleman.

“The way I see it,” the Gentleman said slowly, “you all have two options. For the moment, we are safe from the Myriad. You could scatter to the winds, go into hiding, try to escape. Try to find a quiet life somewhere where they won’t find you.” He paused then, looking to each of them in turn.

“Or you could follow me. Trianna thinks I’m dead, which means she won’t see me coming." He began to pace, anger rising in his voice. "I am going to avenge our family. I will return on her all the destruction she has unleashed on us tenfold, and I will wash out the blood of our fallen comrades with the blood of her and hers. You see, if we can kill her before she sends word to the rest of the Myriad that we’ve survived, then our connection to them is severed for good!"

His voice grew louder, more impassioned, and Jester found herself leaning in. "There will be no one hunting us, no one looking for we rogue few," he said, voice roaring over the roar of the fire. "She commands a network of people, a collection of assets far greater than any we've ever come close to possessing, but they will do nothing to keep her safe from us. In fact, they will give us our future! We will loot her assets, and with them we will build a criminal empire of our own, greater and more powerful than the world has ever seen!” He was breathing heavy, his eyes blazing with an intensity that dimmed even the inferno raging behind him. “Follow me,” he said, “and I won’t just make you rich! I won’t just give you revenge! Follow me, and I will make you the new lords of all of Wildemount!"

The flames crackled behind him, and for all the world, the Gentleman looked like nothing so much as an avenging angel. He extended a hand, a benediction, towards them.

“The choice, of course, is yours.”

One hour later, the Gentleman drove a cart out of Zadash, bound for Nicodranas. None of them had stayed behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am attempting to return to my regular update schedule. We'll just have to see how it goes.
> 
> I really, really want to thank everybody who has ever left a comment on this fic. I reread every single one multiple times over the past couple months, and I honestly don't think I ever would've gotten back to this if it weren't for the people who cared enough about it to leave those comments. So thank you.


	22. Secrets Kept

Beau woke to an absence of warmth. She rolled over groggily, instinctively reaching her arm into the empty space where Jester should’ve been, feeling around for her. When she found only more empty air and rapidly cooling wood, Beau forced her eyes open. It was still very early – no sunlight was yet filtering through the canvas covering of the prairie schooner that the Gentleman had secured on their way out of Zadash. The stretch of wood where Jester had curled the night before, right between Beau and the cart’s entrance, was deserted. The sheet of canvas that had been secured over the mouth of the cart the night before to keep the wind out and the heat in flapped loosely in the chilly, pre-dawn breeze.

Beau glanced over her shoulder at the tangled, close-packed bodies deeper into the cart. If she wanted to worm her way over Yasha, she could probably get warm enough to catch another hour of rest, but she didn’t really find the idea of cuddling with Molly and Sorah very appealing. Maybe tomorrow evening she could challenge Cree for the warmest spot all the way against the front wall of the cart. Beau glanced again at the spot where Jester had laid next to her and knew that she wouldn’t. She rolled her shoulders once and cracked her neck, then crawled out of the cart.

The sky was just beginning to lighten over their little campsite by the side of the Amber Road, black banner of stars retreating before the blue that heralded the dawn. The grass around the road was short and browning; their travels south had allowed them to escape the snows of the colder north, but winter’s bite could still be felt in the air, in the way Beau’s breath rose in a cloud from her lips, in the layer of frost that crunched beneath her feet as she walked towards Jester, who stood by the road, wrapped in a blanket and facing away. She turned at the sound of Beau’s approach.

“Oh!” she said, looking startled and a little guilty. “Hey Beau. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Beau shrugged, coming to a stop next to Jester. “Don’t worry about it; I’d have had to get up in an hour or so anyway. What’s up?” she asked. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Jester shook her head. “We should’ve bought bedrolls when we left Zadash,” she said. “Out of everything when we were going to Shady Creek Run, I really don’t miss sleeping rough. I formed a real connection with our beds in Trostenwald.”

They’d arrived in the town of Trostenwald yesterday evening. It had been a surreal experience for Beau – her dad had often and loudly disparaged the signature trosts produced there and so eagerly consumed by customers around the Empire. “What art is there to beer, I ask you?” he had said. “There is no subtlety to grain mash. Pretentious frauds the lot of them.”

Naturally, Beau had bought a round for everyone as soon as they’d found an inn. Molly had picked it out for them. “This is where we met Fjord,” he’d said, sounding almost nostalgic. “We were advertising for the circus show. He was sitting at a table with a couple of other dirty vagabonds, but he was friendly enough, and he took our flyer.” He’d shaken his head. “Wonder how him and Caduceus are doing.”

Beau smiled slightly, then frowned. “There are things you miss about our trip to Shady Creek?”

“There are a few!” Jester said, a little defensively. “Mostly from the journey there, but yeah. It felt exciting and daring, like we were doing something really good and important and heroic, even though everyone else was telling us it was stupid. It felt like something out of a story, like we were real heroes with a real purpose, a real cause. And Hupperdook was super cool.”

Beau felt a flood of nostalgia. She remembered how it had felt climbing to the roof of the tavern, how Jester had looked with flowers in her hair, fireworks reflected in her eyes, pure wonder on her face. Beau remembered Jester fixing a crown onto her head, brushing a stray hair aside, and telling her how that she looked dashing.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice slightly thick. “It was nice.”

“And I know that our mission to Shady Creek didn’t really work out,” Jester continued, “and I know that it was naïve and stupid and is basically the reason we’re in this mess now, but it felt good to have a real purpose, you know?”

“Yeah, I do,” Beau said. “What we’re doing now doesn’t feel very high-minded, does it?”

“It’s just more petty underworld bullshit,” Jester said, almost angrily. “A different criminal tried to kill us, so we have to go kill them and take all of their shit so that we can go back to doing our regular operations until we piss someone else off and have to kill them too. It just feels so pointless.”

“Well call me an optimist, but I don’t think what we did in Shady Creek was pointless,” Beau said sardonically. “We killed the Iron Shepherds, which was definitely good, and we freed all those people they were torturing. Maybe we didn’t break the entire Wildemount slave trade, but we made a real difference to those couple dozen people. That matters. Besides,” Beau smirked and leaned over, gently shoulder-checking Jester, “you got to meet Fjord. I know you didn’t get to do all the touching you wanted to do, but you got some nice, long looks in.”

Jester laughed, swatting Beau playfully on the shoulder, and for a moment, Beau laughed with her. But Jester’s mirth quickly subsided. “I just wish it felt different,” she said.

Beau tentatively put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Is that why you can’t sleep?”

Jester went quiet. She didn’t pull away from Beau’s touch, but she didn’t look at her either, instead staring off into the middle distance. Hoping that it was the right thing to do, Beau began to rub her thumb in small circles against Jester’s shoulder, trying to offer comfort.

Eventually, Jester broke the silence. “Do you remember when you told me about the dreams you had about the people you’ve killed? How you see their faces?”

“Yeah, I do,” Beau said quietly. She no longer dreamed about the dead every night, but they still made themselves known every couple of weeks.

Jester turned to look at her. Beau had been expecting her eyes to be teary, but they weren’t. Instead, there was a faint, almost clinical sadness to her face that made Beau almost want to start crying herself.

“I think I understand what you meant now,” Jester said. “I can’t stop thinking about Kara. She wasn’t, like, my friend, but I trusted her. I relied on her. And I kept thinking about all those times she smiled at a joke or offered her advice or shared a story or opinion, and I just can’t make it make sense with her blowing up the Evening Nip. Was she just watching and waiting, ready to kill me that whole time?” Jester shook her head. “And whenever I picture her, I remember how she looked when I killed her. I remember how… how _easy_ it was, to pull on a thread of magic and shatter her skull. And if I could kill her just like that after knowing her all that time, then am I really any different from her?”

“Of course you’re different from her!” Beau said, a surge of indignation rising up in her. “There’s no comparison between what you – ”

“I know that” Jester said angrily, cutting Beau off, “but it doesn’t feel that way!” She took a deep breath, steadying her voice. “I’ve killed plenty of people before, even some that worked for my dad and tried to betray him, but I’ve never killed anyone who I cared about. I never cared about the people who worked for us, not really, not before I met you. I only ever had one real friend before I met you, and the Traveler is really, really different from everyone else! I wouldn’t trade our friendship for anything, Beau, but once I started caring about you, I couldn’t stop myself from starting to care about other people too, and that’s a really, really bad idea in this business. All of the people I know enough to care about are really, really dangerous.”

Jester looked down at the ground, her face stormy. “I just hate it,” she said. “At least right now I can be pretty sure that everyone here is safe to trust, but as soon as we kill Trianna and start rebuilding, I’m gonna have to start watching for the next person who’s gonna betray me. That isn’t how I want to live.”

“Hey,” Beau said, “it won’t be so bad, really. You’ll have us to back you up, me and Molly and Yasha. They’re dangerous too, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m, like, really mean. Everyone who wants to hurt you will be way too intimidated to come anywhere near you.”

Jester gave a short chuckle. “You’re not mean, Beau.”

“Sure I am,” Beau said with a smirk. “Watch this.” She leaned towards Jester, screwing her face up into the most dramatic grimace she could manage. “I think romance novels are mediocre.”

Jester snorted, biting her lip as she tried to keep a smile from breaking across her face, before bursting out into a full, genuine laugh. “Thanks, Beau,” she said. “Really.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Beau said, a feeling of warmth spreading through her chest. “Look, I care about you, okay? I’ve got your back.”

“I know you do,” Jester said, her expression warm. Then her face twisted in embarrassment. “I think my laugh might’ve woken people up.”

Beau tilted her head and found that she could indeed hear the sound of shifting bodies coming from the cart. “Oops.”

Jester rubbed her hands together. “I’m gonna go start a fire and get some breakfast going. Come with?”

Beau shook her head. “I should start my exercises,” she said. “Then I’ll be nice and hungry once you’re finished.”

“Okay!” Jester gave Beau one more smile, then turned away to start gathering up firewood.

Beau watched her go, trying to ignore the pit of guilt in her stomach. It wasn’t as though her work with the Cobalt Soul was really a betrayal; Dairon had repeatedly assured her that they weren’t interested in taking down the Troupe, and anyway, Beau had skipped town without checking in with her new handler. They probably wouldn’t even take her back if she ever went to check in.

The sense of bitter disappointment and loss that that thought brought up at least helped Beau distract herself from her guilt as she began her initial stretches. As she took up her first pose, Beau watched as the mouth of the wagon disgorged Yasha, looking bleary-eyed. Her hair was escaping its braids and forming a wild cloud around her head. The overall effect was adorable. Molly tumbled out behind her, followed by Sorah, mohawk half flattened, then the Gentleman and Cree.

The Gentleman shouted something to Jester, but Beau tuned him out, focusing instead on the beating of her heart, the pulse of her blood, the rhythm of her breath, as she began slowly and deliberately sliding through the calming warm-up stretches that Dairon had helped her perfect. She could feel the thrum of ki coursing through her, very faintly at first, but growing stronger as she slipped deeper into herself.

When she felt that her awareness was tuned enough to hold onto her ki with distractions present, Beau returned to a neutral pose and opened her eyes. The sky was significantly lighter than it had been when she began. Sunrise was near.

Not far away, the others were sitting around the fire that Jester had managed to coax to life. The Gentleman removed some rocks from the fire, apparently satisfied with their heat, and Molly handed him a few strips of bacon to begin cooking on them. On the other side of the fire, Cree speared a few sausages on the end of a stick and held them out, the flames coming dangerously close to scorching them as she tried to position them near the coals. Yasha looked up as she finished rebraiding her hair, and seeing Beau staring, called out, “Are you ready for me?”

“If you don’t mind me messing with your ki some more, then yeah,” Beau called back. “I want to get my stunning strike working more reliably.”

Yasha shuddered. “I hate how that feels,” she said. “Even when it doesn’t daze me, it feels like you grabbed all my nerves and just, you know, yanked really hard.”

“You don’t have to do it,” Beau said, feeling a little stung. “I just think it’d be good to have it down pat before going up against Trianna’s thugs.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it, I just…” Yasha trailed off and shook her head. “Never mind, you’re right. Let’s do this.”

As Yasha got rather trepidatiously to her feet, Beau’s attention snapped to Sorah. She had been inconspicuously mending a hole in the knee of one of her pairs of trousers, but she set it aside and stood at the same time as Yasha.

“Why don’t I spell you today?” she suggested. “I’m curious to see what she’s made of.”

“Oh,” Yasha said, sounding very taken aback. “Um…” She glanced towards Beau.

“Sure Sorah, you can spar with me today,” Beau said. As Sorah stood up and walked towards her, Beau gave her a thorough look over. What game was she playing? Beau had barely interacted with Sorah in her entire time working for the Gentleman, and as far as Beau could tell, Sorah had never shown the slightest bit of interest in her.

Sorah stopped opposite of her and took up a ready stance. Beau sized her up. She was tall, with a heavy frame, typical for a goliath. Probably pretty hard to move her if she didn’t want to be moved. The black markings – tattoos, maybe? – that adorned her face sharpened her features, though in Beau’s opinion, the effect was ruined a bit by the fact that she hadn’t greased her mohawk yet today, leaving it incredibly fluffy. In spite of her size, she looked more lithe than bulky, and Beau made a mental note not to underestimate her speed. Her musculature was well defined, with chiseled shoulder muscles and biceps that flexed in way that made Beau immediately feel very warm in spite of the chilly air.

She shook her head quickly, refocusing. Beau shifted her weight back into a defensive stance and waited for Sorah to attack. Sorah didn’t move though. Instead she waited, her eyes fixed intently on Beau. After a few moments, she said, “Well? Show me your stunning strike.”

“What? Oh! Sorry, I thought-” Beau cut herself off, feeling embarrassed. She had immediately assumed that Sorah intended to attack her. “Okay.”

Beau struck quickly, trying to compensate for her hesitation. She drove her sharp left jab into Sorah’s chin, propelling her own ki into Sorah, clawing and pinching at the flow beneath her jawbone. Beau felt her ki slip, then grab, but before it could twist, the force of her blow knocked Sorah’s head back, breaking the connection.

Sorah staggered back a few steps, shuddering. “You’re right,” she called over her shoulder to Yasha, “that feels awful.” She turned back to Beau and grinned. The spot on her chin was already starting to bruise. “Not bad,” she said, giving Beau an appraising look, “especially since you’re self-taught. Maybe this’ll help.”

With a speed the like of which Beau hadn’t known was possible, Sorah struck. Beau instinctually moved to block, but her arm was barely in motion before Sorah’s fist struck her just above the solar plexus. As the blow connected, Beau felt a horrible sensation, like a metal fishhook being inserted into her heart. As the hook pulled taut, tingles of painful tension radiated out to her extremities. The sensation was nauseating. Then the hook twisted, and every ki pathway in Beau’s body exploded with overwhelming, numbing, tingling pain. She staggered back a step, her brain flying into a panic as the horrible sensory overload blotted out her ability to think, almost to see. Her limbs barely responded to her panicked commands, and the world in front of her seemed to be dissolving. She struggled to breathe.

Then it was over, and Beau had to fight against the impulse to bend over and vomit. She took in deep shuddering breaths, and wiped the sour sweat from her brow. She looked up at Sorah, not even bothering to hide her shock. Sorah’s expression was full of amusement, colored with maybe a hint of sympathy. “Not very much fun, is it?” she said.

Indignant anger welled up in Beau. “Fucking hell, seriously? You’ve seen me struggling to figure out unarmed ki fighting for months, all by myself, and you’ve been an expert this whole time and just let me flap in the wind? The fuck?”

Sorah just smiled. “When you reached out with your ki, you tried to grab mine directly. But ki pathways are slippery – it’s like trying to grab a single, oily noodle. You can do it, but not easily and usually not quickly. Did you feel the way mine grabbed onto yours like a hook? That’s the way you want to do it. If you get them on the hook, they’re not slipping off, so then it’s just a matter of hitting an important pathway or cluster accurately.”

Beau chewed the inside of her cheek. “That’s really good advice, but I kinda resent you for it,” she said. “You seriously couldn’t have brought it up once?”

Sorah shrugged. “I didn’t trust you,” she said matter-of-factly. “I wasn’t about to share my hard-earned secrets with a common fence, even if you happened to be the Sapphire’s favorite.”

“And now?”

“Well, you’re following the Gentleman to Nicodranas to fight a much better equipped, incredibly ruthless gang that has the support of an international criminal syndicate behind it. You’re doing this with essentially no support, no backup plan, and in spite of the fact that you had the chance to walk away and start fresh somewhere else. To me, that makes you trustworthy.”

“You’re really devoted to him,” Beau said, not quite managing to keep the incredulity out of her voice. What could someone like the Gentleman have done to earn that kind of loyalty?

“I am,” Sorah said simply.

“Is he just, like, a really good lay?” Beau asked, unable to resist the impulse.

Sorah gave Beau a look of cool amusement. “I said that I think you’re trustworthy, Beauregard. I didn’t say that we were friends.”

“Noted,” Beau said. Her curiosity was piqued, though. For months, Sorah had seemed like nothing more than the Gentleman’s shadow; Beau had failed completely to consider her as her own person. Now that she had, she couldn’t resist the urge to speculate.

Sorah shifted back into a fighting stance. “Now, let’s see whether you can pull off a stunning strike against someone who’s fighting back.”

Beau took up her own stance. “Fair warning,” she said, “I’m probably going to enjoy this way too much.” And then she attacked.

* * *

The cart trundled along the road, and Jester let a small sigh escape her lips. They would be in Nicodranas by nightfall, her dad had assured them all before setting out that morning, and the knowledge of the immediacy of their destination had turned what should have been a perfectly tolerable couple of hours into an unbearable slog. There was so much waiting in Nicodranas, and Jester didn’t feel halfway prepared for some of it.

Jester slumped forward, resting her chin against the lip of the mouth of the cart, staring out at the road they had already traveled. Behind her, she could hear Yasha laughing softly. She and Beau and Molly were playing a game where they told a story together, one sentence per person at a time. Jester had joined them for a few rounds, but her heart hadn’t really felt in it. She supposed she could go join Cree and Sorah’s dice game, but she somehow didn’t think that would hold her interest any better.

After sitting listlessly for another few minutes, Jester finally gave into the impulse that she’d been resisting all day. She stood up, turned to face the rest of the cart, and announced, “I’m gonna go talk to my dad.”

Cree set down her cup of dice. “I’ll get him to stop the cart,” she said, and reached over to bang on the wooden wall dividing the driver’s seat from the cart proper.

“No really, it’s okay!” Jester said quickly, waving Cree off. “I just didn’t want you guys to completely freak out when I did this.”

Jester drew a complex weave of magic into existence in front of her. It had taken her a long time to figure the pattern out – its shape wasn’t easy to describe physically. The closest she could get was to imagine it as the opposite of medical suture. As she pulled on the threads of magic, the air began to glimmer a bright green. Jester stepped into the magical haze, and for a split second the world vanished in a shower of sparks. Then the light faded, and she was standing next to her dad at the front of the cart.

The Gentleman swore loudly, recoiling from the spot where Jester had appeared suddenly and without warning, his hand grasping instinctively for his rapier. Jester laughed.

“Ooh, that was fun!” she said, plopping down in the seat next to him.

The Gentleman huffed exasperatedly. “If you’re going to use absurdly powerful magic to give me a heart attack, you could at least use a little more to send me a message first. Or you could knock on a wall and shout.”

Jester pouted dramatically. “But… but I just missed you so much,” she said as weepily as she could manage.

The Gentleman rolled his eyes, smiling. “Your friends are bad influences,” he said, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Who’s been teaching you sarcasm?”

Jester smiled. “I was only joking a little. I haven’t really gotten to spend any time with just you since we left Zadash.”

“Well, I would never object to your company, my little Sapphire.” Her dad smiled at her again, and Jester leaned against him, a bloom of happiness momentarily blotting out her unease.

The unease was still there, though, and after a few moments, Jester forced herself to confront it. “What’s Nicodranas like?” she asked, trying to ease into the subject.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been,” her dad replied thoughtfully, “but things only change so much. Let’s see… Bigger than Zadash, for one. Livelier. The sea trade brings a lot of people from all over, people of all kinds. There are opportunities there that you could never find in the Empire, many marvels to witness.” He paused for a moment, then continued, “but it is also dangerous. There is a Myriad presence, of course, but also countless lower level criminals and gangs, all wanting to take advantage of the opportunities that such a major port provides. It’s also a joint jurisdiction between the Zhelezo and the Crownsguard, and their rivalry pushes them to enforce their laws zealously and harshly. We will need to tread very carefully.”

“If it’s so hostile, do you think we could try turning Trianna into the guard,” Jester asked. “Then maybe the Myriad won’t find out it was us.”

The Gentleman shook his head. “Even in Nicodranas, the Myriad has enough pull to make such a thing difficult. And even if they got Trianna, they wouldn’t get her whole operation, and the ones they missed would then be very curious about who was stupid enough to rat her out. No, we’ll have to do it ourselves if we want it done right.”

Jester frowned, disappointed but not surprised. “I just keep thinking about how much work it was to find and then deal with the White Peacock gang. It took me weeks of work to just track them down, and then they caught me snooping! And this sounds like it’s going to be way, way harder.”

“It probably will be,” the Gentleman said bluntly, “but you won’t be working alone this time, and I do have a bit of experience with this kind of thing. We won’t want to go poking around any criminal contacts – there’s too much risk that one of them will inform on us, and then the game would be up – but I know a bit about Trianna as a person that could be useful. She fancies herself a cosmopolitan sophisticate, and tends to frequent establishments that provide the kind of high-end entertainment that you can only find in large cities. Theaters, opera houses, balls and galas, high-end brothels, restaurants, wine clubs… it will give us an avenue of investigation that is much less likely to tip her off.”

Jester nodded, a bolt of nervous energy coursing through her as a though she’d been idly toying with suddenly crystalized. “Do you think my mom still lives here?” she asked hesitantly.

He dad was quiet for a minute, but then said, “Probably. She’s rather famous, you know – I think her leaving Nicodranas would’ve been big enough news to make it back to me eventually. But Jester, you can’t reach out to her. Who we are, what we’re doing – ”

Jester cut him off. “I know, I know! We’re dangerous people in a dangerous world, and even if she’d want to know we’re alive, it wouldn’t be fair to drag her into our mess!” She hadn’t forgotten his explanation, and much as she hated to admit it, in this case he was probably right.

“Don’t forget that,” the Gentleman warned.

They sat quietly for a few minutes after that, her dad driving the cart, and Jester sitting there, searching for the courage to say what she wanted to say next. “Dad,” she asked hesitantly, “what happens after we kill Trianna? After we dismantle her operation and take her money?”

The Gentleman gave her a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” she said, “we won’t be able to stay in Nicodranas. If we wanted to set up here, it’d be really obvious to any surviving Myriad that we’d killed Trianna. That’d put us back on their shit list, and then all of this would’ve been for nothing.”

“Right,” the Gentleman said, “so we’ll return to Zadash as quickly and quietly as we can. Our reputations should still have enough weight there to help us attract new workers and contacts, and as long as no one in Nicodranas links us to Trianna’s death, there would be no reason for anyone to come after us in Zadash. Blank slate.”

“Until we piss someone else off and have to do this again,” Jester said bitterly.

“That’s the nature of the game, my dear,” the Gentleman said, sounding more confused than ever. “You should know that by now. Eventually someone will always want what we have, and then we’ll have to kill them. It’s unfortunate, but it’s inevitable.”

“No, it’s not!” Jester said, a deep and powerful anger bubbling up in her. “Everything we built in Zadash is gone. There’s nothing to salvage there; we’d just be using new resources to start over! So why even go back? Once the Myriad are off our back, once we have all that money from Trianna, why be smugglers at all?”

“Maybe I haven’t been clear enough about exactly how much money we’re going to be able to lift,” her dad said, sounding frustrated, “but it’s not going to be enough to retire on, certainly not if split seven ways. What it will be enough for is to serve as an investment in our futures.”

“Exactly!” Jester said, “It could be an investment in our future, not just in restarting a smuggling trade! You never even wanted to be a smuggler! You could use it to buy a ship, be a sailor again! You could use it to start singing, like you told me you used to! Or, I don’t know, you could pick something completely new to do! And I could travel. I could go see what’s out in a world that I’ve barely lived in at all, and I could play pranks and paint and find out what kind of life I even want to have!”

“Jester,” the Gentleman said, beginning to sound angry, “it’s not that simple. We don’t have a –“

“Don’t say we don’t have a choice, Dad,” Jester snapped. “Maybe you didn’t when you came to Nicodranas the first time, but you do now!”

“Jester!” Her dad’s voice was urgent, and angry, and scared, and it snapped like a whip. “Keep your voice down!” he hissed.

“Why should I?” Jester hissed back, matching his volume.

“Because,” the Gentleman said through clenched teeth, “the only way we take Trianna down is with the help of the people in the cart behind us – people, I might remind you, who are not helping us out of the goodness of their hearts! They followed me out of Zadash because I promised them a future, a world in which we seize control of the criminal underworld again! They wouldn’t accept a cut of cash and a direction to fuck off and do whatever with it – I promised them a profitable future in my employ, and because they trust me to deliver on that, they are following us into one of the most dangerous and delicate situations that it is possible to be in. If I went back on that promise, we’d be lucky if they only abandoned us. So no, Jester, we don’t really have a choice.”

“We don’t have to tell them,” Jester said softly, very aware of the thin wood and canvas muffling their conversation from the others. “We can keep going like the plan hasn’t changed, and then once it’s done, we can take our shares and run. If we leave them plenty of their own money to split, I don’t think they’d hunt us down.”

The Gentleman looked at her seriously. “And you could do that?” he asked. “You could screw over your friends, lie to Yasha and Molly? You could lie to Beau?”

Jester wavered. “I don’t think I’d need to,” she began, “she would totally understand –“

“Jester,” her dad said, cutting her off, “what you are proposing would leave her completely adrift. She would have nothing, no future or prospects of any kind. There is no one more dangerous than someone whose trust you have betrayed. If this is what you want, that is what it will take.” The Gentleman looked her dead in the eye. “Can you do that?”

Jester’s chest felt as though it was being ripped open. She pictured Yasha, looking so intensely at her as she talked very seriously about the flavor profile of Zadash’s native bugs. She imagined Molly laughing as he read her future on his tarot deck. She imagined the looks on their faces melting into horrible, hurt betrayal. She imagined a laugh dying on Beau’s face, her mouth curling into a sneer of disdain, the edges of her eyes glinting with tears of anger and hurt that she would never let fall. She imagined the cold disdain and disgusted fury with which Beau would tell her to go fuck herself.

Then Jester looked back at her dad, and a different set of images flashed through her mind. She saw the hold of a ship, dark and damp and full of cages full of people, crying and bleeding. She saw a small house on an island, empty and barren save for her paintings on the wall and the musical laughter of a boy in a green cloak. She saw Beau’s broken form lying in a pool of blood and gore and sewage, Molly’s still body impaled through the chest, and the cages beyond count filling the Sour Nest. She saw the cold mask that settled over her dad’s face as he told her prepare for the Jagentoths' shipment to arrive.

Jester looked at her dad and smiled. “Of course I can,” she said, her voice cheery and confident. “I’m a pretty good liar, you know.”

The Gentleman exhaled, long and slow. “Okay,” he said softly. “Okay. We’ll do it.”

An elation unlike anything she’d ever known soared in Jester’s chest, and a laugh broke from her lips. It was a laugh that contained twenty years’ worth of relief, and even to Jester’s ears it sounded more than a little hysterical.

But then her dad began to laugh as well, and suddenly the light seemed brighter, the world warmer, and Jester felt freer than she’d ever known was possible. She leaned over and hugged her dad as hard as she could.

Babenon hugged her back, and though Jester couldn’t see his face, she could tell that he was smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorah being a monk might be the longest I've waited to pay off a throw away line. Fifteen chapters is a long time, right?  
> Thanks so much to everyone who commented on the last chapter. It really helped me find the motivation to get working on this in earnest again.


	23. The Master of the Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops?

Jester let out a surprised yelp as Molly struck, quick as a snake, pinning her wrist hard against the table, the stack of coins that she had been attempting to surreptitiously slide off of the losing card spilling across the board. Molly shook his head in dramatic disappointment, clicking his tongue as he scooped up Jester’s bet. “Cheater’s get their legs broken,” he said with mock severity.

Jester stuck out her tongue at him, and Beau tried to hide the fond smile that broke out across her face by raising her mug to her lips and taking a long drink of water.

“You said the point of faro was to cheat,” Jester huffed as Molly squared the rest of the board, paying out to Yasha and Sorah, then scooping up the few coppers that Beau had placed on the losing card next to Jester’s.

“And I assumed you already knew the point of cheating was not to get caught,” Molly said with a smirk as he flipped over the new cards.

Beau drowned another smile in her cup as Yasha, taking advantage of Molly’s smug preoccupation, artlessly shoved her own bet off of the newly revealed losing card. Beau caught Yasha’s eye and raised an eyebrow. Yasha’s face flashed to a look that reminded Beau of a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Sorah snickered.

“You’re neglecting the rest of the table, Molly,” Beau called out. “I thought a con artist would be better at watching the board.”

“You have too many opinions about this for someone who hates cards,” Molly shot back, but Beau felt her smile turn smug as Molly’s eyes returned to the board, scanning for a change. The moment he turned away, Jester slid a new stack of coins onto the winning card, far more gracefully than she had before. She looked up and mouthed a thank you at Beau. Beau winked and impulsively blew her a kiss. An immediate surge of embarrassment welled up in her, and Beau turned away, cheeks burning, before she had to see Jester’s reaction.

Molly sighed and squared the board again. Sorah chuckled. “I’d’ve thought someone who owned a faro case would have a sharper eye. Where’d you pick it up, anyway? I haven’t seen this game the whole time I’ve lived in Wildemount.”

Molly rolled his eyes. “Allow a fellow his secrets – you’ve all seen through far too much of my mystique as it is.”

“You’re not from Wildemount?” Beau asked, wondering if it was a stupid question. She didn’t really know anything about goliaths.

“No, no, I was born in Tal’dorei,” Sorah said, placing another bet. “I learned faro in Westruun when I was a kid. Gambling was the least barbaric form of entertainment my father approved of.”

Beau tried and failed to imagine her own father’s reaction if she had asked him to take her gambling. “You should introduce your dad to my dad sometime,” she said with bitter mirth. Sorah responded with an equally bitter grimace.

The door to the tavern swung open, and the Gentleman strolled in as if summoned by the discussion of shitty fathers. He paused for a moment, looking over the table impassively. “Since you’re all back here, I imagine your leads turned up nothing,” he said, pulling up a chair.

"Bad leads tend to give bad info," Beau said defensively. "It's not like you're doing any better. If your 'old friend' had known anything useful, you'd be gloating."

Beau waited for him to grow angry, to shoot a barely veiled death threat her way, or even to attack her. Anything to let off some steam. Surprisingly, he contented himself with a dirty look and a sigh.

“Hard to say what they would’ve known,” the Gentleman said as he began pulling coins out of his purse and stacking them in front of him, “since they’ve been dead for two years. Of all the fucking luck.”

Jester frowned, looking concerned. “Why would someone want to kill a restauranteur? I thought you said they weren’t involved with the Myriad.”

“They weren’t.” The Gentleman sighed and rubbed his temples. “Stroke, apparently. I suppose it could've been poison, but I doubt it.”

“You should’ve let me go with you,” Sorah said angrily. “You have too many enemies here.”

“And that’s why we need to rely on stealth, not might,” the Gentleman said, frustration creeping into his voice. “We’re too recognizable, especially together. Not that that really matters, anymore; I’m out of low-profile ideas. Tomorrow, we’ll make contact with some rival gangs. Maybe they can help us hit Trianna before word gets back to her that we’re around.” It was clear from the tone of his voice how likely he thought _that_ was.

“Cree isn’t back yet,” Yasha pointed out. “She could still find something.”

“Wouldn’t that be a stroke of luck.” The corner of the Gentleman’s lip curled unpleasantly as he rolled a coin along his knuckles before setting it on a card. “I’d wager a platinum against it.”

“You should have more faith in her,” Yasha said. “She deserves better from you.”

Beau frowned curiously. When had Yasha gotten close with Cree?

The Gentleman just huffed slightly and gestured for Molly to turn over the next cards.

Much as Beau might generally dislike the Gentleman, she empathized with his frustration. They’d only been in Nicodranas a week, and the efforts they’d gone to to avoid running into anyone who might note and report them to the Myriad had already worn on her. The thought that they might’ve been wasted made her teeth grind.

Nicodranas had been a striking sight when it first came into view. The spread of the city had been readily visible from their vantage point as they emerged from the Weyun Gorge, much larger than Zadash. Next to the ocean, though, it had seemed miniscule. The sheer enormity of the thing, the seemingly endless plain of rippling water stretching out as far as Beau could see, had left her dumbstruck.

As Beau had stared out passed the city and towards the horizon, Jester had stepped up next to her. “It’s really pretty, isn’t it?” she’d said, her voice soft and her eyes shining.

“It’s… yeah, it’s... wow,” Beau responded, something close to reverence pulling at her heart. “I’ve read about it, and heard about it so many times, but just… like, shit man, no one did it justice.”

“It’s bigger than I remember,” Jester had said. “I think when I was a kid it was too familiar for me to really get it, you know?”

“Think we’ll get a chance to go out on the water?”

“I hope so,” Jester smiled excitedly. “I want a ship with firepower! We can take it out along the edge of the city and blast Trianna’s base to splinters with our cannons!”

Beau had laughed. “Maybe once we have Trianna’s money we can go pirate for a bit. I bet there’ll be enough money to buy a ship, or at least to hire a crew who wouldn’t mind stealing one.”

She’d expected that to get a laugh or some excited speculation, but all Jester had offered was a rather weak smile with something mournful behind her eyes. Beau cursed herself mentally; of course the idea of going pirate would make Jester upset. But all the same, Jester had leaned in and bumped her shoulder into Beau’s, and Beau’s breath had hitched as she felt Jester’s knuckle scrape across the back of her hand.

“I always wanted to fire the cannons,” Jester had said, and Beau couldn’t understand why there had been so much wistfulness behind those words.

But Jester’s excitement had rekindled as they descended into the city, and Beau had grown excited with her. It would be the first place she’d ever been outside of the Empire, and a major port like this one would surely have no shortage of interesting places to see, of people to observe and interrogate and learn about. Beau could barely wait to start her detective work.

The Gentleman had sent her good mood crashing back down quickly enough, though.

“It’s deadly important that we not be recognized,” he had said to them all outside the gates. “We’ll need to keep clear of the main areas of criminal operation, especially the waterfront. It’s been years, but there may still be people in the city that know me personally, and they’re as likely to sell us out as they are to help. We’ll need to be very careful how we investigate.”

So rather than explore the beating heart of commerce and cultural exchange between the Empire, the Menagerie Coast, and the rest of Exandria, Beau had been forced to confine her efforts to the Skew, a ramshackle slum much like any other. Oh sure, there were superficial differences from the one in Zadash, but they were largely the echoes of the other districts, serving only to frustrate her even more with tantalizing glimpses of what lay elsewhere. The fact that her efforts to turn up information on Trianna and the Myriad had met with abject failure didn’t help either.

It was all so suffocating. Even the tavern they were staying in, a dirty old place called the Grey Grouse, contributed to the crushing feeling, with its dark lighting and cramped architecture. It made Beau realize just how much she had come to think of the Evening Nip as home.

That was two homes she could never go back to now. She should know better than to get attached to places.

The hours passed. Cards fell, coins clinked, and the light filtering through the narrow, dusty windows grew dimmer and dimmer. Eventually, Molly gathered in the last of the bets and snapped his faro case closed.

“That’s the last time you’re invited to a faro game,” he said to the Gentleman.

The Gentleman raised an eyebrow as he elegantly swept his much-enlarged stack of coins into a pouch. “I would think you’d be happy to have one honest player at your table. Luck was simply on my side today.”

“Wish luck had been on my side,” Jester muttered as she swept up her much more modest stack of coins. She’d been caught cheating three more times, but Beau was impressed by just how bold some of her attempts had been, and just how close she’d gotten to conning Molly out of a whole fifty gold pieces in one move.

“If you want to court good luck, my dear Sapphire,” the Gentleman said, a devilish grin on his lips, “you need to develop faster hands.”

Beau had basically broken even, which was disappointing after so many hours. “We’re playing something different tomorrow,” she said. “Anyone got any dice?”

“I could buy some while I’m out tomorrow,” Molly said. “Do you have something specific in mind?”

“I’ve got a few options,” Beau said, then paused for a moment to stretch, raising her arms over her head and arching her back. Sitting still for so long had made her cramp up, and it felt heavenly to work them out a bit. Then she realized Jester was staring at her, and she stopped, suddenly self-conscious.

Embarrassed, she quickly looked back to Molly. “I played a lot of dice games in Kamordah. At least one of them should meet your exacting standards.”

The Gentleman cleared his throat. “We should talk about the plan for tomorrow. So far we’ve done everything we can to avoid drawing Trianna’s attention, but we are officially out of safe avenues of investigation. Starting tomorrow, we’re going to branch out.” The Gentleman leaned in, beckoning everyone else to do the same. Beau complied. In a whisper, the Gentleman began, “The first place we should try-“

The door to the tavern flew open with a bang, and Beau jumped, her forehead crashing into Yasha’s. She leaned back, mingled swears and apologies slipping from her lips as she turned towards the doorway.

Cree was standing there, out of breath and panting hard, a look of excitement on her face. She crossed the tavern floor quickly and approached the table. “Gentleman,” she said excitedly, “I have something.”

A look of astonishment and elation spread across the Gentleman’s face. He opened his mouth to say something, but Yasha cut him off, clearing her throat pointedly. She held out a hand.

With a rueful chuckle and a shake of his head, the Gentleman reached into his purse.

* * *

Cree got right to the point. “The master of the Open Quay is hosting a ball at the end of the week. A lot of important people from all elements of the city will be there, including Trianna. It will be the perfect opportunity to observe her and gather information about her comings and goings, especially since some of her retinue will almost certainly get drunk and talkative.”

Jester kept her face composed, but inside she felt like fireworks were going off. A ball! A real, fancy ball, just like in her stories! Enormous fancy dresses, music, magic, romance! She was practically vibrating out of her seat at the thought.

Babenon frowned, however. “It’s definitely the best lead we have so far,” he said, “but there’s no way we can interrogate Trianna’s attendants without alerting her to our presence. Even attending the same ball as her will almost certainly blow our cover – we’re a distinctive group.”

“But that’s the best part,” Cree said, a faint smile crossing her face. “It’s a masquerade ball.”

Jester gave up on looking mature and impassive, and just hoped that she was only smiling a normal amount.

Babenon looked pleased. “Well in that case, we’ll need to get some new clothes so we can sneak in with the rest of the guests.”

“That, ah, may be a bit of a problem,” Cree said. “The ball is being held inside Tidepeak Tower, and I do not think we’ll be able to sneak in. I did some initial reconnaissance this afternoon. There aren’t even any doors.”

Sorah rolled her eyes. “Wizards,” she snorted derisively.

“Hmm.” Babenon stroked his chin contemplatively. “That may not be insurmountable. I have had dealings with Master Yussa, many years ago. It may be possible to convince him that we deserve an invitation in our own right. I’m surprised he’s opened his tower to guests, though. He values his privacy.”

“So what, do we just go knock on his tower wall and ask to come to his fancy party?” Beau asked.

“Essentially,” Babenon said pleasantly. “Not all of us, though; as I said, he values his privacy. Cree, you can join me since this is your lead. Maybe one more…”

Jester let out a soft sigh and mentally put to bed her eagerness to see the rest of the city. Her dad would ask Beau to come and help negotiate, or Sorah to act as extra muscle. She could always sneak out; it wasn’t like _she_ had any enemies in the city, and anyway, she could use magic to disguise herself. She had decided to do just that when her dad spoke again.

“My dear Sapphire,” Babenon said, “you should join me too.”

“I – what?” Jester said, startled.

“Yussa Errenis is a good contact to have, and this would be an excellent opportunity for an introduction,” he said.

“Oh, for sure,” Jester said, stammering a bit, “I just thought…” She glanced towards Beau, trying to gauge her reaction. Beau’s face was impassive, but her expression shifted to one of confusion as she met Jester’s gaze, and she raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“We should not dally,” Cree said. “It’s already late.”

“It is,” Babenon agreed. “Let’s go.”

So they went.

Crossing over into the Open Quay was very much like crossing over into another city entirely. The buildings seemed sharper, more distinct, and certainly better cared for. The streets were wider and cleaner, and even at this late an hour there were people, bustling to and fro with an air of careless joy about them, ducking into and out of various shops, bars, and other establishments. Jester imagined she could even smell the sea more strongly. With as much activity as she was seeing, Jester was sure she was failing to see even more. She didn’t have Beau’s eye for detail. She felt a little spike of guilt. She should’ve offered to have Beau come in her place. She could use magic to sneak out; Beau couldn’t.

Jester couldn’t even think of Beau these days without feeling some kind of guilt. It wasn’t that she felt good about betraying the rest of her friends, but Beau… Beau was her best friend. They had been through so much together. They had spent so many wonderful moments together. Jester’s memory began to drift back to that one day, that one whole day they’d spent together after getting back from Shady Creek, and she shook her head hard, drawing herself back to the present. She wasn’t going to taint such a cherished memory with her current guilt.

Beau would be fine, Jester reminded herself. It wasn’t as if she was planning to stab Beau in an alley and leave her for dead. Beau would get her share of the money, just like everyone else, and she could go her own way. She’d probably even be happy to be released from her obligation to them; she hadn’t signed up because she was enthusiastic about the work.

Her rationalizations did nothing to ease her guilt. It was hard enough to deal with now, in the abstract, well away from Beau. When they were in the same room, Jester could hardly bear it. Her stomach felt full of butterflies every time Beau looked her way. The feeling got a million times stronger when they so much as brushed hands. Somehow, it hadn’t made Jester want to avoid her. If anything, the knowledge of how limited the time they had together was made her want to touch her more, as if the act of physical contact would somehow keep her close, would somehow convey an apology that Jester couldn’t speak aloud.

“We’re here,” said Cree, and Jester snapped out of her reverie. They had reached a courtyard, an open circle of road with a tower protruding from the center, and Jester couldn’t understand how they hadn’t seen it from outside the city. It pierced the sky like a spear, looming over everything. Cree was right, Jester realized. There were no doors.

Undeterred, she turned to Babenon. “Do we knock?”

He nodded. “Care to do the honors?”

Jester smiled at him and approached the tower. She raised her fist and gave a hard knock. Immediate regret exploded through her mind a moment faster than the pain did as she realized that she had, essentially, just punched solid stone. Nevertheless, she gave two more, much softer knocks before backing away, murmuring an invocation to the Traveler to heal her hand.

They didn’t have to wait long. One moment the wall was stone, solid and unyielding, and the next there was a wooden door, which eased slowly open to reveal a goblin squinting suspiciously at them from behind stringy hair.

“What do you want?” she demanded, her voice high and demanding.

Babenon smiled pleasantly. “We’re here to see your master,” he said.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asked. “He’s a very important man.”

“No,” Babenon admitted, “but I am an old friend. He’ll want to see me.”

The goblin woman sniffed. “Wait here.” She vanished back inside the tower, and the door vanished with her.

“He’s hired new help,” Babenon commented.

After a couple minutes, the door reappeared, and the woman with it. “He’ll see you,” she said, “but don’t try any shit. I’m watching you.” She narrowed her eyes and patted a hand crossbow hanging from her belt.

“We wouldn’t dream of it!” said Jester, pressing a hand to her heart. Babenon and Cree stepped through the open door, and she followed them.

The woman closed the door behind them, then scurried ahead, leading them up the stairs into a well-appointed sitting room where a man in long robes perched on the edge of a chair, nose buried in a book covered in glyphs and patterns that made Jester’s head hurt. He looked up as the woman loudly announced their presence and closed his book with a snap.

The man stood, his features thrown into sharp relief by a fire crackling warmly in the hearth behind him. He was tall, pale skinned and pale eyed. His auburn hair was cut short, and he sported a close-cropped goatee. When he spoke, his words carried a distinct Zemnian accent.

“For someone claiming to be an old friend, you do not look very familiar,” he said.

A look of surprise flashed across Babenon's face for an instant before his expression smoothed over. “That would make sense,” he said evenly, “as I don’t believe we have ever met. I was expecting to find Yussa here.”

“Master Errenis has departed for a long trip around Exandria,” the man who was not Yussa said. “As he expressed no interest in returning, I have assumed control of the Open Quay.”

“I wish him a safe trip, then,” said Babenon lightly, a razor’s edge to his voice. “I am glad to see that he has embarked on a new venture; he had never shown any interest in such travels before.”

The Zemnian man smiled coldly. “Nonetheless, he is gone. And I am here.”

Babenon matched his smile. “I am certain we can be friends as well. You may call me the Gentleman.”

“One can never have too many friends,” the man said, giving them all a measured look. “My name is Caleb Widogast. Please, have a seat.”

They sat, and Jester’s eyes widened at just how soft the cushion of the loveseat was. She stroked the soft, velvety material absentmindedly as Caleb asked, “What are the names of your associates?”

“Her name is Cree,” Babenon said gesturing. Cree gave a short nod. “And she-“

“You can call me the Sapphire,” Jester said brightly. “You have a very soft couch, Caleb.”

Caleb seemed a bit taken aback. “Ah, thank you,” he said uncertainly. “Yussa had good taste in furniture.” He blinked twice, then turned back to Babenon. “Perhaps we can discuss what a mutual friendship could do for each of us.”

Jester’s hand tightened, reflexively gripping the couch. They hadn’t prepared for this. This was not someone her dad had worked with before, someone he could call on favors with or sweet talk or charm. They had nothing to offer. She looked to her dad to see what he would do.

Babenon appeared unfazed. “Certainly,” he said, leaning back nonchalantly. “My associates and I are in the business of procuring unusual and interesting items for people with the taste and sophistication to appreciate them.” He gave Caleb an almost predatory smile. “Surely a man such as yourself has some unusual appetites.”

“My principal appetite,” Caleb said softly, “is knowledge. Magical knowledge.”

“That is certainly an appetite that I can satisfy,” Babenon said, and Jester was impressed by how calmly he could lie to such an obviously powerful man.

“Do not misunderstand me,” Caleb said, his voice growing intense. “I am not speaking of simple trinkets or common spells. My interests are far more advanced. I wish to study the nature of reality itself, the power of causality, the flow of time. I have learned much in my studies since I arrived here last month, but there are limits to what I can do with the resources I currently have.” He gave Babenon an appraising look. “The item that would be most helpful to me resembles a dodecahedron, illuminated from within by grey light.”

From out of the corner of her eye, Jester saw Cree stiffen.

“I cannot say that I have such an item currently in my possession-“ Babenon began.

“- It would astonish me if you did –“

“- but I can certainly make some inquiries,” he finished. “And I have a selection of other texts and relics that might interest you. I also have leads on a number of other items of that sort that I could procure if they interest you. Perhaps we could discuss them in more detail at a more convenient time?”

Caleb glanced out the window. “It is quite late,” he admitted.

“I understand that you are hosting a masquerade this weekend,” Babenon said casually.

Caleb seemed to consider for a moment. “That would be agreeable,” he said. “I assume you will be wanting to bring retainers.”

“Six,” Babenon said, nodding.

Caleb nodded back, producing a piece of paper from a pocket in his robe and passing it to Babenon. “Knock at the appointed hour and show your invitation. I look forward to continuing this conversation.”

“As do I,” said Babenon, standing.

Jester stood as well, pushing a pleasant smile onto her face. “It was really nice to meet you Caleb.”

“You as well,” Caleb said.

Jester kept her smile in place as they turned away, her heart racing. She hoped her dad knew what he was getting himself into. Lying to a murderous wizard, making promises and offers that he wouldn’t be able to deliver on… Jester only hoped that they could get enough money from Trianna to get far away from Nicodranas.

The goblin woman, still scowling, lead them back down the stairs and out of the tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, with so much of the setup for this act finished, I'll have an easier time keeping some kind of schedule for publishing the actual meat of it. Your patience and your lovely comments are eternally appreciated.


	24. Masquerade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the one hand, this was supposed to go up two weeks ago. On the other hand, it set a new record for longest chapter, and I had a really fun time writing it. I hope you all have a fun time reading it.

“Can you put your arms up, please?”

Jester complied, lifting her arms straight and high above her head, and Yasha slid the heavy ballgown onto her. For a few moments, her whole world was a dark mess of heavy satin as the dress tangled with her horns. Then they were free, and her head and arms slid easily into place as this final layer came to rest on her. Her fingers stroked the fine fabric, marveling at the feel of it.

She looked up at Yasha. “You should feel this too, Yasha. It’s so smooth.”

Yasha reached out slowly, hesitating for a moment before running a single finger along the shoulder of the dress. “I think… I think my hands are too rough for something this fine,” she said sadly, withdrawing. She looked down at her own dress self-consciously. “Even this feels too pretty for me.”

“Yasha!” Jester said reproachfully, “Don’t say that! I bet every lady at the ball is going to look at you and be like, ‘Oh man, I wonder how I can get her to do me in the hallway.’” Yasha opened her mouth to protest, and Jester raised a finger, preemptively cutting her off. “You’re beautiful, and that dress looks beautiful on you!”

Beautiful hardly covered it. Yasha’s dress was velvet, black and grey and silver, and far less poofy than a standard ball gown. It clung to her figure to an almost absurd degree, and the ankle-length skirt was slitted to allow easy movement. Honestly, Jester was almost jealous of just how good Yasha looked; she didn’t think she’d be able to pull of that look nearly as well. Yasha was much taller and thinner than her, and though Jester didn’t think Yasha was that much stronger than her, she certainly looked it. The dress was sleeveless and low in the back, and it did a phenomenal job of showing off her impressive musculature, those corded, molded biceps that flexed ever so slightly as she moved, her back muscles that rippled as she stretched, the way her shoulders rolled…

Jester looked away, face burning. She must be more jealous than she’d realized.

“Well, your dress looks beautiful on you too,” Yasha said. “Just one more thing.” She picked up a mask from the dresser and affixed it to Jester’s face. “Okay,” she said, “look in the mirror and tell me what you think.”

They’d had to request the mirror special from the tavernkeeper, who’d been happy to loan them the one from his personal quarters – for a modest surcharge, of course. Jester had serious doubts about whether that was actually where the mirror had come from – it was cracked and coated with a fairly thick layer of grime, and a colony of termites had made itself very comfortable in one of the legs. None of that mattered, though, because when she looked in the mirror, she found a gorgeous stranger looking back at her.

Yasha had made her look like someone right off the cover of a dark romance novel. The gown’s bodice was blood red satin, complimented by a necklace of garnets that drew attention to her plunging neckline. The dress belled at her waist, and the blood red satin of the skirt was joined by a rouge pink, tailored so that it was barely visible while standing still but would become the dominant color when she twirled. The effect was completed by her mask, blood red as well, and styled with the barest suggestion of devil horns. She looked beautiful, dangerous, mysterious, and absolutely perfect.

“Thank you so much, Yasha,” Jester said softly. “Thank you for helping me.”

Yasha shrugged and looked away. “I didn’t do that much, really,” she mumbled. “Mostly it’s the dress.”

Jester shook her head, smiling. “Good thing my dad’s friends felt super guilty about not being able to help him,” she said. One of them owned an upscale clothing shop and had been willing to accept a greatly reduced fee, which was fortunate, because they’d lost a lot of their money when the Evening Nip burned. Full-priced masquerade attire hadn’t been in the budget, and as much fun as showing up to the dance naked would have been, it wouldn’t have helped them blend in.

“Ready to head down?” Jester asked. Excitement was bubbling in her chest.

“In a minute,” Yasha said, crossing to the mirror. She peered anxiously at her reflection. “I need to fix my hair, I think. I did my braids too messy. And my eyeshadow is too dark, and – and where’s my mask?” Yasha turned around sharply, eyes wildly scanning the room, something like panic in her eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jester said soothingly. She stepped up and put a hand on Yasha’s shoulder. “Your braids are great, your makeup is perfect, and we know your mask is in this room, okay? I’ll find it. Everything is going to be great.”

As it turned out, Yasha’s mask had gotten knocked off the bed and onto the floor. Jester had just bent down to retrieve it when she heard a loud crunching sound ring out through the quiet room. Jester sprang to her feet immediately, Yasha’s mask in one hand, her other hand sinking into a pocket hidden in her skirt and grasping the symbol of the Traveler, and looked around the room for the source of the noise. Had someone broken in?

But there was no one new in the room, and it hadn’t really been that kind of crunching sound. Jester looked over at Yasha, who had one hand on the frame of the mirror. Yasha looked back at her with eyes like a deer caught in a light spell. Her cheeks were bulging. Very slowly, Yasha began to chew, and the crunching sound repeated. Jester caught a glimpse of the head of a termite protruding from her lips.

A laugh escaped Jester’s lips, and Yasha immediately flushed beet red. “I’m sorry!” she said through a mouth full of termites, “I’m just nervous, and they were right there, and I didn’t think you were going to eat them, so I just…” She gestured vaguely.

“You should save some room,” Jester said. “There’s gonna be, like, so many sweets at the ball probably. The buffet table is definitely going to be where I start my investigation.” She held out Yasha’s mask. “Ready?”

Yasha swallowed. “Ready,” she said, still sounding embarrassed. She fixed the mask to her face, and when Jester turned to leave, she could hear Yasha following.

As she descended the stairs, Jester asked, “Don’t you usually like your bugs cooked?”

“It’s, uh, kinda like peanuts, I guess?” Yasha responded, still clearly embarrassed. “They might be better honey roasted, but they’re still good without.”

They must’ve taken longer than Jester had realized, because everyone else was already in the tavern’s common room. Her dad looked up from his conversation with Sorah as Jester came down the stairs, and he said, “We were beginning to think you two had been kidnapped.”

Jester rolled her eyes. “It takes longer to get ready when you actually put effort into it,” she said. Citing a desire to blend in as much as possible, Babenon had picked out clothes that were as close to generic as you could get for a masquerade. He wore a simple black tuxedo and tails, with a large white mask that covered three-quarters of his face. Sorah, at least, had branched out a bit, with doublet and breeches in navy and powder blue, accessorized with a half cape. But that was not where Jester’s eye was drawn.

Beau was sitting at a table with Molly, apparently engrossed in conversation, and Jester couldn’t understand how Molly could bare to be so near someone who shone as brightly as Beau did at this moment. Her suit pants were a vibrant emerald, and they fit close to her body, accenting her hips in a way that Jester suddenly felt shouldn’t be allowed. Her suit jacket was rendered from the same emerald cloth, but feather patterns had been added in glittering copper thread all along the back that shimmered as she turned to face Jester. Her vest was emerald and copper as well, blended together in beautiful whorls that resembled nothing so much as malachite. Her mask was colored the same, its rounded eyes and slight beak giving it the likeness of an owl, further enhanced by the fringe of feathers rising from it up Beau’s forehead. From beneath the mask, Beau’s eyes were sharp and clear, and their gaze seemed to pierce clean through Jester, pinning her to the wall of the stairwell.

“Guhhh,” was the sound that passed Jester’s lips as the air escaped her lungs. Beau tilted her head quizzically, but Jester couldn’t seem to move.

Yasha nudged her gently from behind. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m great!” Jester said, shaking herself and ripping her eyes away from Beau. She stared deliberately at her feet as she descended the last couple of steps.

“Yeah,” Beau echoed, and for some reason, Jester thought Beau sounded just as flustered as she felt. “Yeah, you look great.” After a moment, she said, “You look good too, Yasha.”

“Thanks.”

After taking a deep, calming breath, Jester looked up. She did not let her gaze go to Beau again, though. Instead she looked over at Cree, who was standing awkwardly a short distance away from Beau’s table. She wore a dress similar in cut to Jester’s, but a bit less poofy, and colored in dun and gold. She had put streaks of glittery gold paint in her fur, to striking effect. And her mask –

“Omigosh Cree, your mask has cat ears!” Jester exclaimed delightedly.

Cree looked immediately uncomfortable, crossing her arms over her chest. “They’re, uh, ironic,” she said awkwardly. “You are in no place to judge; your mask has horns on it!”

“Um-hmm! Mine aren’t ironic at all,” Jester said, smiling.

Cree uneasily returned the smile, then glanced hesitantly towards Molly. “Maybe Molly could get a mask like that too,” she said. “We could match.”

Molly, who was wearing an ensemble that resembled an extremely colorful plague doctor, met Cree’s remark with a cold glare, from which Cree recoiled. After a moment, he looked towards Jester, gave her a quick, small smile, then stood up and walked away, calling out, “Yasha, you’ve got something in the corner of your mouth!”

Jester met the hurt in Cree’s eyes with a sympathetic grimace. From what Molly had told her, she certainly didn’t blame him for not wanting anything to do with Cree, but that didn’t stop her from feeling bad for her. This was hardly the first time since they’d left Zadash that Cree had made an attempt to reach out and been rebuffed.

Babenon clapped his hands once. “Time to go,” he said. “We want to be fashionably late, not seriously late.”

The group formed up and followed her dad into the cool evening air. Jester found herself standing next to Beau, and was relieved to realize that whatever strange effect the site of her had had on her had largely faded. Still, she felt a strange dryness in her mouth and fuzziness in her chest as she smiled at Beau and said, “You look so good tonight, Beau.”

Her friend smirked at her. “You think so?” Beau asked smugly. “I was going for something that’d really impress anyone I need to interrogate tonight.”

“You could get anyone to do anything you want in that,” Jester assured her. “I was kinda going for the same thing, but I also really wanted to get the most out of my first masquerade that I could.”

“Hopefully we have a good time, then,” Beau said. “If this goes well, then once we’re set up again we should do more business at fancy parties.”

Jester managed a weak smile at that.

It didn’t take long to make their way back to Tidepeak Tower, where they were met not by a bare and imposing stone wall, but by grand double doors beneath a silken marquis. That same goblin woman Jester had seen when she was here before was suspiciously examining the invitation presented by a small group of people. It took a moment for Jester to be sure it was the same woman – she had ditched her previous attire for a beautiful dress of yellow silk, and had reversed the usual mask shape, instead wearing a porcelain mask that covered her nose and mouth but left her eyes exposed. Her crossbow was still prominently displayed, though.

After a moment, she waved the group in front of them through and turned to Babenon. “Invitation?” she demanded imperiously.

“But of course.” Babenon handed over the piece of paper. The woman made a show of examining it, holding it up to the light as if to check for watermarks, then raised it to her faced and began sniffing at it, glaring suspiciously at them.

Jester held in a snort of laughter and glanced over at her friends to gauge their reactions. Beau had an expression of mild bemusement on her face, but Molly was looking at the woman very strangely, like he was seeing something impossible. After a few moments, he opened his mouth and asked, “Nott the Brave? Is that you under there?”

The woman – Nott – started violently, swore loudly, and almost dropping the invitation as she scrabbled for her crossbow, bringing it up quickly to aim directly at Molly’s chest. “Who sent you?” she screeched.

Molly threw up his hands, a look of alarm crossing his face. “No one sent me, I work for the Gentleman!” he said. “Do you seriously not recognize us? I thought Yasha and myself were at least a little memorable.”

Nott squinted suspiciously. “You were with the circus,” she said finally. “Mockery something-or-other.”

“Mollymauk Tealeaf,” Molly said, flourishing his hands and bowing. “Pleased to remake your acquaintance. Glad to see you’ve moved up in the world. Is Caleb still with you?”

Nott holstered her crossbow. “Mr. Caleb has done very well for himself,” she said, still sounding very suspicious. She turned her attention to Babenon. “He’s been expecting you, and he’ll receive you and a retainer in his private lounge immediately. _One_ retainer,” she said emphatically.

Molly exchanged an incredulous glance with Yasha. “Caleb Widogast is the master of the Open Quay?”

“Tealeaf,” Babenon growled, “later.” With a polite nod to Nott, he led them inside.

Molly turned to Jester. “You saw him? What did he look like? How did he seem?”

“Um, nice I guess? Weird in, like, a wizard way. And definitely dangerous,” Jester said, only half listening. The room they had just entered was a grand atrium, nothing at all like the room they’d met Caleb in. It almost seemed too wide for the tower, and they were proceeding quickly towards another pair of double doors, flanked by twin staircases ascending to a balcony. Incredibly beefy footmen stood at attention at the base of the staircases and next to the doors.

Molly shook his head in bemusement. “The Caleb I knew seemed like he was more of a danger to himself than anything else,” he said. “I just have to see who he’s become.” He turned to Babenon. “Gentleman, you should bring me with you to the negotiations. I know Widogast. I’m sure I could –“

“Your knowledge of Widogast doesn’t interest me in the slightest,” Babenon hissed angrily under his breath. He rounded on Mollymauk. “It doesn’t matter what arrangement we reach with him right now,” he said in a whisper so low that Jester could barely make it out. “Right now, I just need to keep him talking long enough for you all to gather information on Trianna. I do not care what insights you might be able to glean from him, and I will not risk spooking him with an unexpected familiar face. Stick to the plan and do your fucking job.”

They had reached the second set of doors. Babenon straightened up and beckoned to Sorah to join him. Together, they approached one of the footmen at the base of the stairs. “Your master is expecting me,” said Babenon. The footman nodded and gestured for them to ascend.

Jester met her dad’s eyes and tried to pour into that stare one thought, one wish, as hard as she could. _Good luck_. Babenon gave her the tiniest of nods.

Jester turned to the rest of the group and smiled. “Let’s party,” she said, and led the way through the doors.

If the antechamber seemed a to stretch the dimensions of the tower a little, the ballroom shattered them. The cavernous room was dimly lit - romantically lit - by globules of red light floating above an expansive dance floor packed with people in all manner of dramatic costume. An arched gallery spread around the edge of the dance floor, the spacious walkway sprinkled here and there with comfortable-looking chairs and small round tables. Along one wall was an enormous banquet table piled high with delicacies. Jester spotted a couple of doors tucked into the opposite wall with neatly lettered signs above them giving directions to “the lavatory”, “the balcony”, and “the garden”.

“Why can’t your magic make places like this, Traveler?” Jester breathed. The sheer impossibility of this magnificent room was making her feel nearly giddy.

On her left, Cree was carefully peering through the crowd. “I don’t see her,” Cree said after a moment, “but that does not necessarily mean that she is not here. Trianna could be in the back corridors, or among the dancers, or simply out of sight. You all remember what she looks like, yes?”

“Yes, we listened one out of the thousand times she was described to us,” Molly snapped.

“Well, then.” Cree said, then cleared her throat awkwardly. “I’ll, um, go check the hallways.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away.

Jester looked to her friends.

“Buddy system?” Beau suggested.

Yasha nodded. “I want to stay off of the dance floor, if that’s okay. I’m not a very good dancer, and I want to keep my sight lines clear. Molly, would you want to check out the gallery with me?”

“Sure,” Molly shrugged.

“Clear sight lines sounds like good strategy,” Beau agreed.

“Then we’ll start at the feast table!” Jester said excitedly. “Come on!” She grabbed Beau by the hand and pulled her along at a brisk walk towards the food.

“Woah, Jester, hold up a minute!” Beau said.

Jester looked back at her questioningly. Had she missed something?

“We should, uh, try not to stand out too much,” Beau said, sounding embarrassed. Without quite looking her in the eye, Beau offered her arm.

“Ooh, good catch!” Jester threaded her own arm through Beau’s, and a thrill shot through her chest.

With exaggerated grace and mincing steps, they made their way through the crowd to the nearest end of the table. Jester stared at the spread before her, unsure where to start. The table was laden with delicacies from all across the continent, a feast so rich and splendid that Jester doubted even King Dwendal would have been able to match it. Some of the food she recognized – dishes of fish roe, snails cooked in garlic butter, morsels of steak wrapped in bacon, and several fermented dishes that she was pretty sure were Zemnian – but even more were a complete mystery. There were dozens of unfamiliar fish – probably local – displayed alongside a collection of vaguely gelatinous masses that Jester would never have guessed were meant to be eaten. A little ways away, a pot of steaming red oil was surrounded by a display of very thin uncooked meat and fungus. Far down at the other end of the table, Jester could barely make out a dessert section.

“What is it with rich assholes trying to impress each other by making awful shit edible?” Beau said derisively. “You’d think they’d use their money to make stuff that actually tastes good, but instead they spend a fuckton of gold on tiny portions of, like, snails and shit. Every time my father had business contacts over for dinner, I got to spend the whole evening watching him try not to gag on whatever ‘delicacy’ he’d commissioned.”

Jester was torn. Beau never talked about her family, and it was something she was desperately curious about. On the other hand, this really wasn’t a good time to poke at unspoken trauma. And on her hypothetical third hand…

“I want to eat all the weirdest things here,” Jester declared, “and then I want to try every single pastry.”

Beau grinned. “Let’s start with the roe. It pops funny when you bite down.”

Jester grinned back and reached for the dish with her free hand.

They made their way indecorously along the table, giggling and gagging as they tried dishes tasty, disgusting, and supremely weird. Jester grab a fried shrimp head from a platter and bit down on it with a satisfying crunch. Beau grabbed a handful and shoved them into her mouth, and began chewing with obvious difficulty. One of the heads slipped almost all the way out and dangled from her lips, and Jester laughed as Beau struggled to get it back in her mouth as they moved on.

Jester felt her stomach turn as the approached the gelatinous masses. Nothing about them had gotten more appetizing up close. She glanced quickly back and forth between Beau and the platters. Beau smirked and reached out to grab a chunk. Without breaking eye contact, she shoved it into her mouth, and Jester threw her head back and laughed as Beau immediately started gagging.

“Thanks Beau!” she said cheerily, and moved on up the table.

She smiled again as she heard Beau wheeze, “Traitor.”

They hurried past an elaborate champagne fountain surrounded by a gaggle of people already well on their way to passing out, and finally arrived at the part of the table Jester had been most looking forward to. Sweets and baked goods of every shape and form imaginable spread out before her. Hearty slices of pie sat next to elaborate and delicate sugar spun confections that Jester couldn’t even put a name to. Simple but elegant cupcakes intermingled with strange constructions of creams and mousses that didn’t seem like they should be able to support themselves.

“Oh my gosh, where do we even start?” she asked Beau, not taking her eyes off of the smorgasbord in front of her. Her gaze drifted towards a pot of molten caramel with a collection of dippable fruits and crackers next to it.

“Anywhere but there,” Beau said, shuddering slightly. “Just looking at that makes my teeth feel like they're melting. What about this?”

Jester turned to see Beau offering her a simple, dark cupcake. Not chocolate – it was the wrong color of brown for that, and the scent was wrong.

As she took the cupcake from Beau, Beau stiffened, her eyes locking on a point somewhere behind Jester. “Look who just arrived,” she murmured.

Jester turned and followed Beau’s gaze to the grand entrance doors, now wide open. A cluster of a dozen people stood in front of them, dressed in finery and surveying the room with a good approximation of casualness.

And at their head stood Trianna.

In spite of the description her dad had given her, Jester had half expected someone much larger than life, someone whose very presence dripped menace and evil. But Trianna was exactly as her dad had said; an aging human woman, maybe mid-fifties, with pale skin, a friendly looking face, and long salt-and-pepper hair that was currently twisted up in an elaborate knot behind her head. She wore a ball gown of brilliant yellow and gold, and a simple black eye mask with gold trim. She carried a fan loosely in one hand as she gave the room one last look before turning and, casually but decisively, began to move towards the banquet table.

Jester turned to Beau in alarm. “We need to be somewhere else,” she said.

Beau looked hesitant. “She still has her guard up and all her thugs close by. I definitely don’t like our odds of getting anything out of her until those things change, but she shouldn’t have any reason to suspect us, should she? And I don’t see a way for us to leave that wouldn’t draw a ton of attention.”

Jester rolled her eyes impatiently. “Of course there’s a way out, Beau!” she said. She could hardly believe Beau didn’t see it. She took a quick bite of her cupcake – of course it was delicious, that was so unfair – then set it down angrily. She grabbed Beau’s hand and started dragging her out onto the floor. “Come dance with me.”

“I – what?” Beau said, pulling back, sounding somehow astonished that there would be dancing at a ball.

“At a dance, people dance,” Jester explained. “So dance with me, and we can make a non-suspicious exit! Also I really want to dance.”

Beau nodded once and allowed Jester to lead her onto the dance floor. Jester turned to face her and put her free hand on Beau’s shoulder, while Beau’s hand tentatively came to rest on Jester’s hip. Jester felt a strange shiver run through her body, and she locked her attention on Beau’s face.

Beau took a quick look around at the other dancers, then looked back to Jester. “Do you know how to dance?” she asked.

“Of course I know how to dance,” Jester scoffed. “I bet I could dance like no one here has ever seen! But, um, we’re trying to blend in, and I don’t know how to do fancy partner dances.”

“Fair,” said Beau. “I think I know this one, so you can just follow my lead, okay?”

They began to dance. The song had a gentle rhythm, and Beau’s steps were simple and assured, easy for Jester to follow, especially with the little bit of guiding pressure from Beau’s hand. As the pattern of the dance began to repeat itself, Jester began to fall easily into a rhythm, and a smile broke across her face at the simple pleasure of it.

“How did you learn to dance so well?” she asked Beau.

Beau gave a slightly pained smile. “My parents really wanted me to be able to mingle with the nobility.”

“So you were a noble?” Jester asked, a little incredulous. In some ways it made sense – Beau’s education, her bearing – but in others…

Beau snorted. “Gods no. My father fucking wished, though. He was new money – made a fortune in wine. I was the vehicle for his ambition of actually advancing into high society. That meant lots and lots of etiquette classes. I didn’t like them and I wasn’t good at them, but dancing was kinda fun, and he wouldn’t let me do boxing, so…”

A gentle realization washed over Jester. “That was your dad’s wine you were selling that night in Kamordah,” she said softly. “That’s how you were able to steal four of the most valuable bottles from his private stock.”

The smile that crossed Beau’s face was not a happy one. It was sharp with hurt and clenched with self-loathing. “That’s right,” Beau said. “Funny, isn’t it? I’m such a good con artist, I conned my way into working as one for you.”

As the song came to an end, Beau stepped back and sunk into a deep bow. “Lie, steal, and betray,” she said. “That’s the Lionett way.”

Jester rose from her curtsy. “Maybe that’s true,” she said, “but it’s not your way. You are the truest, loyalest, bestest friend I have ever had, Beau.” A now-familiar stab of guilt shot through her. “You’ve been better to me than I’ve ever deserved.”

Beau raised an eyebrow at her. “Jester, you’re, like, incredibly smart,” she said, “but that’s the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever said.”

Jester didn’t know how to explain to her how wrong she was.

“I bet Trianna’s moved on,” Beau said. “We should get back to the mission.”

“Wait,” Jester said, reaching out desperately as the first notes of the new song began, fast and light and jaunty. “Dance one more with me.” _Let me have a few more minutes at your side._

Beau hesitated. “This one’s faster and harder,” she said. “It’ll draw attention if we fuck up.”

“Make sure you don't fuck up then,” Jester said reasonably.

Beau gave an amused snort. “Alright,” she said, taking Jester’s hand again and returning her other hand to her hip. “You’re on.”

And then they were moving, and Jester was struggling not to trip over her own feet as Beau quick-stepped, forward and backward and side to side, releasing her hip and extending their arms and collapsing in again, and it was all Jester could do to keep her feet beneath her, but she did not take her eyes from Beau’s. A well of stubborn determination was surging within her, and perhaps Beau could feel it too, because she didn’t break eye contact either. Her stare grew in intensity along with the music, and the pulse of the beat and the stumbling of her feet and the heat of Beau’s eyes on hers grew and grew until Jester felt certain it must sweep her away.

And then there was the barest glimpse of green in the corner of her vision and a familiar voice in her ear. “I’ve danced a few dances,” the Traveler said in his wonderful careless whisper. “Let me show you the steps.”

And the world seemed to shift. The music turned liquid, and Jester felt as though it was pouring over her like a warm waterfall. Her heart beat in time to the rhythm, and her feet followed her heart. She was matching Beau’s moves with confidence now, leaning into each move, and she saw Beau’s eyes widen with surprise and delight, and Jester smiled.

She made no attempt at conversation. This was too elemental for that, too primal, too true. Beau lifted her hand and spun her, and Jester twirled beneath Beau’s arm, laughing with giddy freedom. The music had lit a fire within her, and as Beau pulled her back in and took hold of her once again, Jester felt the fire swell in response to her touch.

The rest of the ballroom faded into a shifting blur of color, and there was only Beau and the music and the movement and Beau, and each time the dance brought them back together Jester pulled a little bit closer, the fire inside her seeking Beau as hungrily as if she were a branch dripping pitch. Jester followed the heat and gasped as she felt their hips press together. Her face was inches from Beau’s, and through the haze she could see beads of sweat running down from Beau’s hair, and beneath her mask her eyes seemed alight with the same fire that Jester felt in her own. And then they were apart again as Jester twirled away, carried by the music.

The swelling melody buoyed them along, pulling them apart only to crash them back together, and each time Jester felt her head grow a little lighter, her breath a little shorter, her vision a little narrower. The blood pounded in her ears in time to a song she could no longer hear, only feel as it built, swelling and crescendoing towards an inevitable, unavoidable climax.

And when that moment came, Jester knew exactly what to do. She threw her arm around Beau’s neck even as Beau’s arm slipped up around her and grasped tight, and Jester let out a gasp as she flung her body into a dip, back arching in Beau’s grasp and head lolling back towards the floor. All thought fled from her head as Beau held her there, waiting as the final, triumphant note rang out and faded.

The world clarified around her, and Jester stared up at Beau and felt as though she was seeing her for the first time. She could feel her chest heaving as she gasped for air, and saw that Beau was similarly winded. With each breath, the fire inside her burned stronger and spread further, but as she came back to herself, a new feeling joined the first, a nervousness – no, a _fear_ – that swelled in intensity to match the fire of her want. Jester could not name the want that suffused every inch of her body, dared not name it, but as she stared up at Beau, saw her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted, she felt certain that if she did not name her desire, did not look directly at it, simply let it carry her where it would, then maybe…

“Beau,” she whispered, and the words sounded as though they were spoken by someone else far away, for that voice did not sound at all like her own, “Beau, I…”

And then a man’s voice hit her like a bucket of cold water. “Jester? Beau? Well I’ll be damned, how’d you wind up here?”

Jester had the distinct feeling that she was waking up from a dream, the contents of which were fading from her memory even as she struggled to hold onto them. As Beau pulled her to her feet, she was suddenly aware of how soaked in sweat she was, how flushed her cheeks were, how out of breath she was. There were pleasant tingles running through her whole body, but they came together in her stomach in a sensation that was profoundly uncomfortable, and she awkwardly put a few feet of distance between her and Beau. What had she..?

She avoided looking at Beau, avoided _thinking_ about Beau, even as her cheeks continued to burn and her entire being quivered. Instead, she turned her attention to the men who had just approached them. Her heart leapt.

“Fjord!” she exclaimed in delight. “Caduceus!”

Caduceus leaned out from behind Fjord and smiled. The soft green eye mask he wore did nothing to disguise his incredibly distinctive appearance, but it did match his peacoat nicely. “Oh hey you two,” he said with a soft delight, “Sorry for interrupting, but we wanted to come see how you were doing.”

From somewhere off to her right, Jester heard Beau say in a distinctly raspy, unsteady tone, “You weren’t interrupting anything. Why would you be interrupting anything?”

“Well it is absolutely fantastic to see you two again,” said Fjord, a twinkle in his eyes. His costume was far more elaborate than Caduceus’s. His mask rose all the way up his forehead and connected to an enormous leather hat with a dramatic feather protruding from it. Over breeches and doublet, he wore a beautifully made captain’s longcoat that fell almost all the way to the floor. He looked good. Really good, Jester thought emphatically.

“Omigosh, you guys look great!” she said. “I didn’t know if we’d ever run into you two again! What are you doing at this party?”

“Well, funnily enough, the man hosting it is an old friend of mine,” said Fjord, sounding surprised at this own words. “We’ve been cleaning up some messes around here, and we ran into him on one of our outings and he invited us to come here. Caleb’s really done well for himself.” He paused for a moment, then asked, “Are Yasha and Molly here too?”

“They are,” said Beau, “but they’re on business. We are too, actually. We should probably get back to it.”

Fjord chuckled. “Well, I know better than to pry,” he said, “but if you have the time, we would love to catch up properly later.”

“That’d be great!” Jester said enthusiastically.

“Then I’ll look forward to it.” Fjord tilted his hat and turned to Caduceus. “What strikes your fancy?”

“I’d like to visit that garden,” Caduceus responded. Jester had to strain to hear him as they vanished into the crowd. “I think seeing some wizard flowers sounds really nice.”

Jester stared off into the middle distance after they vanished from sight, her brain churning. Thousands of emotions raged through her, each as fathomless and unmanageable as the last, but from them, a desperate certainty emerged. She knew what she had to do.

After a moment, Beau said awkwardly, “Should we, uh, get back to reconnaissance?”

“Yeah, yeah we should,” Jester said distantly, not looking at her. She reached a decision. “You get started,” she said. “I have to take care of something really quick.”

Without waiting for a response, Jester walked away, heading towards the edge of the room and the doors that granted access to the back hallways. A fierce determination rose up in her. Fjord was the closest she had ever met to the kind of person that could give her the sort of romance she’d wanted her whole life, and she would not let him slip through her fingers again. Somehow, miraculously, she’d been given a second chance at him. That had to be fate, right? This was what she was supposed to do.

She wouldn’t leave anything up to chance this time. Conventions of romance be damned, she was going to find him in the garden and tell him exactly how she felt about him, and then everything would be perfect. She would have exactly what she had always wanted.

For the first time Jester could remember, some part of her felt uncertain. Some part of her mind drifted back towards –

Jester crushed that part of her mind down hard and pressed forward.

* * *

The storm of emotions that Beau felt as she watched Jester walk away from her were unworthy of her attention or acknowledgment, and yet she couldn’t push them aside. Chief among them were thwarted desire, bitter disappointment, and, most overwhelmingly, guilt.

She had let her emotions get the better of her. She had let herself get so swept up in the moment, in the flow of the dance, in the feel of Jester’s body pressing against her, Jester’s breath on her neck, her hand on her shoulder, that for a moment, she’d actually let herself think that –

Beau shook her head hard, but she couldn’t dispel the shame. What the fuck was wrong with her? Jester had made it very clear that she wasn’t into girls, and Beau had promised herself that she wouldn’t burden Jester with her unwelcome affections. She was her best fucking friend! How could she be so selfish?

She had shown her hand. She had done nothing to conceal the way Jester’s touch ignited every nerve in her body; hell, she’d actively pulled Jester against her, just to feel more of her touch. She’d come within inches, literal fucking inches, of kissing her. There was no way in hell Jester hadn’t noticed; she was an extremely perceptive person, and the way she’d pulled away from her, had refused to even look at her, was more than enough confirmation of that. Beau could only hope that she hadn’t damaged their friendship irreparably, and that once the moment wasn’t so fresh, Jester would be willing to accept her apology.

Then again, maybe if she was able to land Fjord, she’d forget all about it. The moment probably wouldn’t loom as large in Jester’s memory as it did in Beau’s. It certainly wouldn’t compare to finally getting the man of her dreams.

The ugly feelings that that thought inspired only made Beau feel worse. She should be happy for Jester! Jester deserved a best friend who would be happy and supportive of her finally accomplishing one of her most important goals. Besides, Fjord was a legitimately good guy; Beau would even say she liked him! He was earnest, funny, and absolutely overflowing with compassion. It would be almost impossible to do better than him. If Beau was into men, she knew she’d pick Fjord over herself in a heartbeat.

Beau realized people were staring at her. No fucking wonder, since she was standing in the middle of the dance floor like an asshole. She shook her head hard again. She had a job to do. She needed to get information on Trianna’s operation, either from her or from one of her lackeys, and she needed to do it without being noticed. She needed to focus on that, not her own stupid fuckups.

Fortunately, Trianna had worn an eye-wateringly yellow dress, so it didn’t take long to spot her. She was seated at one of the small tables in the gallery on the other side of the dance floor, talking to someone Beau didn’t recognize. She didn’t think it was one of the people that Trianna had arrived with, though. In fact, Beau could only spot three members of her entourage in her immediate vicinity. This was probably the best opportunity Beau was going to get to observe her directly.

As calmly and gracefully as she could manage, Beau began weaving her way between dancing couples, slowly crossing the dance floor towards Trianna. When the current song came to an end, Beau paused, waiting for the inevitable trickle of couples tired of dancing to leave the floor so she could slip in with them. Her mistake only became apparent when the first few bars of the next song began, and Beau recognized it as one that accompanied a group dance. By then it was too late. The dancers around her were forming into a circle, and with Trianna’s few remaining goons clearly looking for trouble, Beau reluctantly fell in line.

It was an irritatingly slow dance, and long. As Beau wove her way through the line, matching her steps to the music and to whichever costumed idiot she was facing at the moment, she tried to keep sneaking surreptitious glances towards Trianna’s table, making sure she was still there. If she got up and left while Beau was stuck doing this simple, insipid pattern that was practically designed for infants first learning to dance…

Beau let her distraction get the better of her. As the dance neared its end, she misstepped, and her head cracked painfully into the head of the person in front of her.

“Fuck! Sorry,” Beau muttered. The other person did not respond, except to inhale sharply, and Beau glanced at them. Her eyes widened in surprised.

Standing opposite her in a costume reminiscent of a raven was Expositor Dairon.

“What are you doing here?” Dairon hissed. Beau was vaguely aware of the song ending. “You’re supposed to be at the Halls of Erudition!”

“That plan fell through,” Beau hissed back. “It was a real clusterfuck – I had to get out of town. What are you doing here?”

“I told you the Cobalt Soul had important business for me in the south,” they responded, still in a low whisper. “I can’t talk about it here; I’m undercover.”

“Yeah, me too,” Beau said. She looked back over at Trianna’s table, and a jolt of alarm shot through her. Trianna was standing up, beckoning the man she’d been talking to to follow her. “Shit, I have to go. My target is getting away.”

“Your target?” Dairon asked suspiciously.

“Oh fuck off, I’m not here to assassinate anybody or anything, I just – look, I have to go, alright?”

“Fine,” said Dairon. “But we will talk about this later. I’m staying at the Rotting Porpoise in the Skew. Find me there tomorrow.”

“Yeah, alright, see you then,” Beau said, and she hurried away before another dance could start. She reached the gallery just in time to see Trianna vanish through a door into the back hallways. Beau followed, walking as casually as she could.

What was Dairon doing here? Beau supposed the Cobalt Soul wasn’t technically an Empire Institution, but she didn’t think their interference was nearly as accepted elsewhere. And what would Dairon have to say to her, once they heard how badly Beau’s infiltration plans had crashed and burned? That wasn’t even considering what would happen once they heard Beau had skipped town without so much as checking in with the Expositors.

Maybe it would be better not to follow up. Beau hadn’t told Dairon where they could find her. She had basically accepted that her bridge to the Cobalt Soul had been burned, nevermind her wishful fantasy about being accepted back once the Gentleman got set up in Zadash again.

But maybe Dairon would understand. Maybe they would let Beau keep working for them until her next big fuckup. Maybe she could pretend to have a future, to not be a total shitbag, for a little while longer.

Beau pushed through the door into the back hallways. Compared to the rest of the tower, they were surprisingly utilitarian. The walls were bare stone, the floors covered with a functional amber carpet. Like the ballroom, the halls were illuminated by free floating magical lights, but these ones were brighter, yellower, and much less like mood lighting. Beau took a measured glance in each direction and caught sight of a flash of yellow fabric vanishing up a flight of stairs with a sign over it that read, “Balcony”. Beau waited a beat, then followed as quietly as she could.

The top of the staircase emerged onto an elegant balcony, lit by more soft floating lights. As best Beau could tell from the stairwell, it appeared to overlook the square where the tower was located, which raised some interesting questions about how extensively magic was manipulating the geometry of the place. By Beau’s estimation the balcony seemed too wide to fit on the tower exterior. She couldn’t see anyone from the stairwell, but she could hear a low murmur of voices, so she did not emerge. Instead, she pressed herself hard into the wall and edged slowly closer to the top of the stairs, straining to make out the conversation.

A soft, slightly cracked feminine voice was saying, “… that ungrateful bastard Caenum refuses to reschedule his delivery. One day, I will have him killed for his multitude of slights, but for now, he’s irreplaceable.”

Beau made the reasonable conclusion that that was Trianna speaking.

Trianna continued, “Matthias, have you had any luck getting some extra hands from the other bosses here?”

A much deeper voice responded. “I’m afraid not,” Matthias said, sounding apologetic. “Three days is too short notice to get enough reliable people – at least, reliable people that can be trusted not to try to pocket anything while unloading.”

“Damn,” said Trianna. “Could the Basilisks not have had the decency to wait a few more days before fucking with us? I don’t like being shorthanded for deliveries of this size. No one should be foolish enough to try to steal from us while we’re unloading, but, well, some people are stupid enough to mistake shorthandedness for vulnerability.”

Matthias grunted. “I’ll tell Kyran not to fuck around with the Basilisks. If they’re efficient about it, I think we can have them all back to help by noon.”

“Make it happen, Matthias.” Trianna sighed. “I swear, this business gets more and more exhausting every day. I was hoping I’d actually have time to unwind at the party tonight.”

“I can handle the rest if you like,” Matthias offered. “Stay here for a few minutes. Breathe, enjoy the view. Then go celebrate.”

They went quiet for a moment. Beau waited, barely breathing, for the silence to break.

Finally, Trianna said, “I couldn’t ask for a better second, you know. One of these days I’ll retire for real. I bet you’d barely even notice I was gone.”

Beau could hear the smile in Matthias’s voice as he said, “Modesty does not become you, Trianna. I bet you’ll still be running things by the time I’m your age.”

“Flatterer. Go see to our business.”

Beau heard the scraping of chair legs, and the sound of someone very large standing. As quietly and quickly as she could, she retreated back down the stairs.

* * *

Jester pushed into the back hallways and looked around. No sign of Fjord. Not a problem; she knew where he was going. Really, she couldn’t ask for a better setup; magic gardens were, like, the best possible location for a romantic confession. It was literally something straight out of a storybook.

There were a lot of drunk people between her and the door to the garden, though, and between the cramped hallway and her very poofy dress, Jester was having a hell of a time pushing past them. The last thing she wanted was some fop throwing up on her dress and soiling her perfect moment. She hadn’t spent her whole life holding out for her perfect prince to have her crowning moment spoiled in such a disgusting way. So she slowly wove through the crowd, absorbing fragments of the drunken hysterics around her.

“- you know, I heard he could only get hard if he stuck it in a grapefruit first –“

“- so there I was, completely naked, covered in honey, and I heard a distant roar –“

“- and I finally confronted him, and it turns out he wasn’t cheating on me with my chamber maid, but with my own father! –“

“- come on babe, you can’t pretend you don’t find a man in the Myriad even a little bit sexy –“

Jester paused. The mission. This was a chance to gather information on the Myriad. On Trianna. She gazed longingly at the door to the garden, but squared her shoulders. She’d waited for Fjord more than twenty years. She could wait a little longer. As unobtrusively as she could, Jester leaned against the wall and began to listen more closely.

A tabaxi man with brindled fur was swaying on the spot, gesticulating dramatically at a skeptical-looking halfling woman. Jester thought she recognized him from Trianna’s entourage. “All I’m saying is, we’re total bad boys, right? Like, real sexy menacing.”

“Uh huh,” said the woman, her sarcasm as subtle as a dragon. “So menacing.”

The man nodded emphatically. “And rich besides, don’t forget,” he added. “Richest in all the city.”

“I don’t know, I’ve slept with some very rich people.”

“But have you ever done it on a literal pile of gold pieces?” the man asked. “Cause we can go do that right now, down at our main warehouse.”

“Is that so?” the woman asked, suddenly looking much more interested. “I have a few more engagements here to wrap up first, but I’d love to come see this warehouse of yours. Could I meet you there in a few hours?”

“Sure thing!” the man said enthusiastically. “It’s here in the Open Quay, actually – fewer Zolezzo, Master Widogast doesn’t like them sniffing around his business. Now, to get there you just need to…”

Jester shook her head in quiet astonishment as the man loudly and in painstaking detail described how to find the Myriad’s secret storehouse. How the hell had someone like him lived this long in the service of someone like Trianna? Her dad would’ve dumped him in a ditch that very night if he worked for him. Jester would have suspected him of being a plant meant to throw spies off if it weren’t for his obvious drunkenness, his single-minded focus on the woman next to him, and his painstaking specificity. Jester almost worried that she wouldn’t be able to remember all the directions.

Finally, the man finished, “You got all that?” he checked.

“Definitely,” said the woman. “Can’t wait to see you there.” She turned to go.

“Wait!” said the man suddenly, reaching out for her. “You didn’t tell me your name!”

“Oh. Ummm…” the woman stalled. “Eleanor,” she said eventually, with the air of someone who didn’t give a damn if anyone could tell she was lying. “Well, see you.”

“Wait!” said the man again. “I didn’t tell you my name! It’s Dane!”

Jester had heard enough. She turned away from Dane and “Eleanor” and pushed through the door and into the garden.

What struck her first was how quiet it was in comparison to the ballroom and the hallways. The garden was beautiful, but small, a stone courtyard filled with flowering bushes and shrubs arranged in artful concentric rings around an enormous central flower, a single amber rose rising as ten feet into the air, stem as thick as a tree trunk. Magical lights floated around in pastel shades of pink and pale blue, giving the whole area a soft, romantic glow. Looking up, Jester saw that there was no sky, just a black canopy full of fairy lights in the same gentle colors.

It was absolutely, perfectly picturesque, and even better, it was almost completely deserted. Aside from Jester, there were only two people in the garden, standing at the base of the giant rose. They were facing away from the entrance and hadn’t noticed her arrival yet.

Fjord murmured something that Jester couldn’t hear, but Caduceus gave a soft, delighted laugh, tilting his head back slightly for a moment. It was a sweet sound, but for some reason it made Jester vaguely uncomfortable. She hadn’t considered how to get Fjord away from Caduceus. Should she just ask Fjord for a word in private? But the garden was so perfect. Could she ask Caduceus to wait outside?

As she debated with herself, Fjord turned towards Caduceus. Even from this distance, Jester could see his eyes sparkling. She still couldn’t hear what he was saying, but Caduceus gave him a curious look. Slowly, tenderly, Fjord reached out and placed a hand on Caduceus’s cheek.

Jester’s stomach gave a horrible lurch. Instinctively, she flung a hand forward, reaching for something, anything, she didn’t know what. A horrible, silent scream welled up within her chest in denial of what was about to happen.

Fjord leaned forward, tilted his head up, and kissed Caduceus gently on the lips. Jester felt herself shatter. Her eyes struggled desperately to reject the sight before them, but there was no angle, no trick of the light, that could disguise the truth she saw before her. Tears spilled from her eyes, and a horrible, tearing sob built at the back of her throat.

Without bothering to be quiet, Jester turned and fled the garden.

They didn’t seem to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please know that I have nothing but respect for the fact that Caduceus is aroace and that I intend to do right by him. I ask you all for the benefit of the doubt in the meantime.  
> Thank you all for sticking with me through these tumultuous times and my unpredictable update schedule - your comments really do mean the world to me. Special shoutout to new reader K, who has been leaving wonderful comments on every chapter as they catch up. They've been a wonderful bright spot these past few weeks.


	25. The Ruby of the Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Folks, we are officially back on schedule

The rest of the party passed in a haze. For a long time, Jester just wandered the halls, barely aware of her surroundings, completely submerged in her own emotions. There was a fierce satisfaction that came from letting herself be completely overrun by the awful storm raging in her chest. She should be sobbing, disconsolate, devastated beyond recovery. She should be rending her clothes and tearing her hair out. That was how people in love reacted to total rejection, wasn’t it? But as much as she ached, as terrible and embarrassed and guilty as she felt, she didn’t even feel like crying. Not unless she allowed her mind to begin to put words to her hurt, and then her eyes stung and watered and her chest heaved and her throat constricted horribly. So she didn’t think; she just wandered.

Eventually, she bumped into Cree. The tentative tone with which Cree greeted her told Jester that she hadn’t quite managed to compose her face into a seamless smile in time, but Cree had never been the kind to try to offer sympathy, so after a few awkward entreaties, Jester was able to follow her back to the rest of the group.

They reconvened in the entrance hall; apparently her dad’s audience with Caleb had concluded. They didn’t linger, and as soon as the tower was out of sight behind them, Molly began to speak, reporting some information that he’d overheard from one of Trianna’s goons dancing near him. Each of them relayed their information in turn, but it may as well have been white noise for how much Jester absorbed. She almost missed when it was her turn to share.

After that, her dad pulled Sorah aside to have a whispered conversation. Judging by the barely restrained excitement in his voice, Jester supposed that they must have come up with some promising leads. With her dad’s departure, though, the conversation among the rest of the group petered out, and the silence that followed was tense enough to intrude on Jester’s reverie. Molly was openly glaring daggers at Cree, who kept a good ten feet away from him at all times and looked absolutely miserable. Jester kept a similar distance from Beau. Her mere presence sent Jester’s already unsettled stomach into backflips. Looking directly at Beau seemed to turn every sensation in her overwhelmed body up to eleven, and she was already feeling way more than she wanted to right now. She didn’t _want_ there to be anything awkward between her and Beau – she just didn’t feel like talking right now.

Beau didn’t approach her either.

When they finally arrived back at the otherwise-deserted Grey Grouse tavern, Jester wanted nothing more than to go up to her room and seek the sweet release of sleep, but her dad gathered them all around a table in the corner to discuss what they’d learned. This was important, Jester reminded herself. What they did with this information would determine the course of the rest of her life, would probably determine if she had a “rest of her life” to look forward to. It was much, much more important than whatever melodrama was whirling inside her.

So why was it so hard to focus on what her dad was saying? She tried, she really tried, and she even managed to get the gist of what the plan was: In three days’ time, Trianna would be receiving an enormous shipment of suude at her main warehouse in the Open Quay. At the same time, a significant part of her fighting force would be carrying out a hit on a rival gang. During that time, with half her force away and the other half occupied offloading, they would hit Trianna at the main warehouse, kill her and her closest lieutenants, pick off the rest of her people as they trailed in, and then take possession of every bit of wealth they could find.

Jester thought it seemed like a good plan, but that was about as much thought as she could seem to give it. When her dad dismissed them with instructions to rest up and lie low for a couple of days, Jester was the first one up the stairs, and hers was the first bedroom door slammed and locked as she fell face first into bed and let the discord in her heart carry her to a restless sleep.

Morning came like the first gasp of fresh air to a surfacing diver. As awareness returned to her, Jester swore softly and rolled over, hiding her head under a pillow. Was this what the morning after a night of being crazy stupid drunk felt like? Probably not – when people got drunk enough to act like she had, they probably didn’t remember it all so clearly.

She shouldn’t have let herself be driven to distraction like that. She’d barely paid attention to the information that her dad had put himself in the crosshairs of an incredibly dangerous wizard to get ahold of, had barely even registered the plan that they were all pinning their futures on - the incredibly dangerous plan that she was dragging all of her friends into, just to betray them for her own ends. She was supposed to be good at controlling her emotions! She had always been good at controlling her emotions! How had she let herself be so completely unraveled by a man that she had known for maybe a week in total, a man who -she now forced herself to admit - had never really shown any romantic interest in her in the first place?

And Beau. Jester groaned loudly and pulled the pillow down harder on her head, feeling the tip of her undamaged horn pierce the pillowcase. She shouldn’t have avoided Beau after the dance. She’d just been so overwhelmed, so caught off guard by…

Jester didn’t want to put words to the violent emotional morass inside her. She didn’t want to separate out each piece, inspect it, understand it, label it, and file it away in its proper place. As they were, elemental and shapeless, they felt easier to hold, safer, less terrifying. If she named them, they would be real.

But it was obvious that she couldn’t handle them as they were. If they got the better of her during the attack on the warehouse, she could die. Worse, she could get her friends killed, her family killed. If she understood herself, then maybe she could keep herself in check.

But she wasn’t going to find enlightenment in a cramped attic bedroom that smelled like old pee. Jester stood up and quickly dressed, then slipped out of her room.

It was still pretty early – judging by the light coming through the grimy windows, the sun was barely up. Jester wasn’t in the mood to encounter any of her friends right now; with any luck, they’d all still be sleeping off the masquerade, even if they were appallingly early risers. She moved as quickly and quietly as she could down the stairs and into the main barroom. Seeing it empty, she breathed a sigh of relief and quickly exited the building.

The early morning light was a good look for Nicodranas, even here in the Skew. Jester took in a deep breath of salty ocean air, smiled to herself, and started to walk. She had no destination in mind, but she did make sure to start in the opposite direction of the Open Quay so that she wouldn’t wander in without realizing it.

Her path set, Jester turned her thoughts inward, towards the pulsing knot of raw emotion at her core. The question of where to start momentarily overwhelmed her. The emotions tied to Fjord seemed particularly sharp, and the thought of untangling them made her immediately wince and cast around for something else. But when she looked away from those emotions, towards the unnamed undulating mass beyond, she recoiled immediately from the sheer unknowable enormity of it. So it would have to be Fjord first.

Why had she had such a breakdown over seeing Fjord kissing Caduceus? She liked Fjord, for sure – in the deliberate and methodical mindset Jester was forcing herself to adopt, she couldn’t quite convince herself that she loved him – but it had been well over a month since she’d seen him or interacted with him. She’d filed him away as a missed opportunity to regret, and her work preparing to infiltrate the Cerberus Assembly hadn’t left her much time to brood on him.

Maybe that was why it had hurt her so much, actually? Maybe their sudden, unexpected reconnection had raised her hopes high, only to immediately have them dashed? Had she simply been so overwhelmed by how wonderful it was to see someone that she had connected with so deeply again?

 _No_ , an unwelcome voice seemed to say, _that isn’t what you felt when you saw him_.

Jester pressed her hands to her ears, as if that would block out whatever part of her it was that was saying that. Unfortunately, she couldn’t deny it. In spite of herself, she played that moment over in her head again, and what she had felt had not been delight or wonder; it had been relief, and then…

Jester forced herself to think it. Desperation. She had felt a bone-deep desperation for Fjord to… to what, exactly? To be with her? To kiss her? To validate her?

To validate her. That seemed the closest, if not entirely correct.

A woman in a butcher’s apron nodded politely to Jester as she passed her storefront. Jester smiled and gave her a wave.

What kind of validation could Fjord have provided for her? That stumped Jester for awhile. She considered herself pretty self-assured. She’d always stuck to her guns, even when everyone around her thought she was crazy. For as long as she could remember, she’d been able to rely on her own instincts to stay alive and thrive, first in the belly of that slave ship, then on Darktow, and all the way up to now. She didn’t need anyone to validate her.

A memory floated to the surface of her memory. On the road back from Shady Creek Run, alone in a carriage with Beau, spilling all her fears about her dad, about the futility of their struggle against the slave trade, and about Fjord. Focusing on Fjord had been such a wonderful distraction from the rest of that heavy shit. He had been a chance to pull something good out of a profoundly awful situation.

Was that all he was this time, too? A distraction from the very delicate plot that Jester had committed herself to? Was that all he had ever been? It couldn’t be, right? She’d felt a real connection with him the moment they’d met, just like in the stories. Hadn’t she? Or had he just been cute, nice, and convenient?

If that hadn’t been the spark of true love, then what was? Jester refused to entertain the horrifying notion that maybe her love stories had been lying. No way would so many people be writing about love if it wasn’t real. But she’d been so sure that Fjord was the one. How would she know it for real, when one day it came?

She could ask someone who’d been in love, she supposed, but who? Yasha didn’t talk about her wife, Molly was fucking _two_ , she didn’t have that kind of relationship with Cree or Sorah, and Beau… For some reason, Jester really didn’t want to talk to Beau about love right now.

What she really wanted was to talk to her dad. He had loved her mom, really and truly, still loved her, Jester knew, even after all these years. But she couldn’t just go and ask him about what it meant to be in love; for one thing, he needed to focus on planning the attack on the warehouse in two days. For another, if she went to him and poured her heart out about her difficulties and confusion, she’d have to admit that she spent most of last night wandering around like a zombie because a boy she kind of liked kissed someone else, and Jester was not going to tell him how badly she'd fucked up. She would have to figure this out on her own, somehow.

Unless… An idea suddenly occurred to Jester, an idea so perfect and so wonderful that it stopped her in her tracks. Her dad would never approve, would be furious, in fact, but Jester _needed_ to get her distraction under control before it got someone hurt or killed. Her dad would definitely be madder if she got someone killed, right? And now that the idea was in her head, it was so enticing for so many reasons that Jester just had to do it.

A little ways down the street, Jester spotted a woman in Zhelezo armor using her reflection in a shop window to pick her teeth.

“Excuse me, Miss Zhelezo?” Jester called out. The guard turned towards her. “Hi, I’m new to town, and I was wondering if maybe you could help me? I need to find a brothel.”

The guard raised an eyebrow at her. “Well,” she said, “The Misted Window is a decent place to start, at least as brothels in the Skew go. If you’re more concerned with price than quality of service, you could try the Landlocked Siren. If you have more specific tastes and deeper pockets, the House of Veils over in the Opal Archways could-“

“Actually,” Jester interrupted, “I’m looking for one worker in particular. Where can I find the Ruby of the Sea?”

* * *

Beau overslept her usual morning training session, which just fucking figured, given how poorly she had slept. Clearly it wasn’t enough that she was completely exhausted; she also had to start her day at fucking ten o’clock. As quickly as she could, she dressed, stretched, and hurried down to the common room.

It was emptier than expected, even for the perpetually deserted inn. A bartender was polishing a glass, and Molly and Yasha sat at a corner table playing cards. Other than that, the room was completely empty. Beau walked over to join them.

Molly looked up as she approached. “And she emerges at last,” he said. “Sleep well?”

“Not even slightly,” said Beau.

“I never would’ve guessed.”

“Fuck you Molly.” Beau pulled up a chair and plopped down in it. “Where is everyone?”

“The Gentleman took Sorah and Cree to the Open Quay to do some scouting, verify last night’s intel,” Molly said. “We have orders to stay in the Skew and keep a low profile.” Molly laid a card down on the table, then snapped his fingers. “Oh yeah, and Jester snuck out early without telling anyone. Not sure where she went, but her dad is holding off on a search party until nightfall.”

“Oh. Okay, cool,” Beau said, her guts twisting unpleasantly.

Molly looked away from his cards and towards Beau, his gaze searching. “What happened last night?”

“Have to be a little more specific, man, last night was fucking busy,” Beau said, affecting a careless, unconcerned tone.

Molly rolled his eyes. “Between you and Jester, obviously.”

Beau froze. “What do you mean?” she asked, holding her voice as perfectly steady as possible.

“Well,” Molly said, “you were supposed to be watching each other’s backs, but you spent most of the night separated. And on the walk back, you barely even acknowledged each other’s existence. Not that I give a damn, but what’s up with that?”

“It’s nothing serious,” Beau said, managing not to clench her teeth while she said it. “Just something stupid I did that I need to go apologize for.” She stood up abruptly.

“What, like right now?” Molly asked, surprised. “A search party might draw unwelcome attention, you know.”

“Yeah, Molly, I’m not stupid,” Beau snapped. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “I’m just going to go for a walk,” she said. “If I run into her, great, but if not, I’ll talk to her when I get back.”

Yasha gave her a concerned look. “Would you like some company?” she asked.

“No, I just need to clear my head,” Beau said. “Besides, if you leave Molly alone, he’ll have no one to play with but himself, and he definitely doesn’t need the practice.”

Molly snorted. “Fuck you, Beau.”

“Uh huh.” Beau smiled. “Have a good time.” She turned and left the bar.

Contrary to Molly’s insinuations, Beau was a fantastic investigator, and so it didn’t take her long to locate the Rotting Porpoise, a small tavern that somehow seemed even more ramshackle than the Grey Grouse. Apparently Dairon had found an even less conspicuous hiding spot than the Gentleman, a fact that, to Beau’s surprise, gave her a small jolt of satisfaction.

She pushed into the dark, empty tavern room and approached the bar. The barkeep glanced up lethargically as she approached. “Want a drink?” he asked. “Maybe a room?”

“No, thanks,” Beau said. She brought out her signature charming smirk. “I’m actually looking for a friend. You don’t happen to have half-elf in residence, do you? They’ve got a shaved head and a body like a chiseled fucking statue.”

“Dunno,” said the bartender with no pretense of honesty. “Might be I could find out, though. ‘Specially if I knew who was asking.”

Beau placed a couple silvers on the counter. “Tell them Beau is here.”

The bartender nodded, scooped up the coins, and vanished. Beau found a seat and waited.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Maybe a minute after she sat down, Dairon entered the room alone. They nodded at Beau, gave the room a cursory inspection, then took the seat across from her. “I have paid the bartender to give us the room so that we might speak freely.”

“Smart,” said Beau. As ever, Dairon’s face was unreadable, and Beau adjusted hers to match. She wouldn’t give away any more than they did.

“I will admit,” Dairon said, “that I was not certain you would come. I thought, perhaps, that you had left the Cobalt Soul behind to ply your trade here on the coast, and that it was sheer bad luck that brought us into contact last night.”

“It was luck,” Beau admitted, “but I haven’t decided what kind yet. I haven’t bailed or anything, though, if that’s what you’re fucking worried about.”

“Then why are you here and not with the Assembly in Zadash?”

“The Myriad caught up to us,” Beau said. “Burned out our base, destroyed our assets, put out hits on all of us. The boss in charge of handling us is here in Nicodranas. To get out from under her thumb, we needed to come here and deal with her.”

“And that is the goal you were furthering at the masquerade?” Dairon asked.

“Yeah. She was there, so we decided to gather some intel.” Beau tilted her head curiously at Dairon. “What were you doing there?”

“Something similar.” Dairon paused, and Beau could see them weighing how much information to give her. Eventually, they reached a decision.

“The Soul has tasked me with investigating the activities of Mr. Widogast,” Dairon said. “There have been strange occurrences in the Open Quay ever since he took over its stewardship. Mass sluggishness, strange sickness, buildings rotting and collapsing far faster than they should. We have reason to believe that these are the direct results of experiments by Widogast into areas of magic that the Empire has long restricted for the safety of the general populace.”

“Okay, that’s clearly not great,” Beau said, “but what makes him such a high priority for you? You don’t have a branch in Nicodranas, and I’m pretty sure he’s not the only wizard up to shady shit. Why investigate him and not some of the Assembly higher ups?”

“Aside from the obvious difficulty we have had properly infiltrating the Assembly? Widogast has certain history with the archmagi of the Assembly, history that makes it likely that there will be a clash between them, sooner rather than later. When wizards squabble, there tends to be significant collateral damage, and since it seems likely that he is conducting forbidden research in preparation for this battle, the Soul thought it imperative that he be dealt with before he returned to the Empire to settle his vendettas.” Dairon leaned back in their chair and sighed. “As an apprentice Expositor, I could use your help.”

“Sure,” Beau said sarcastically, “I don’t have any pressing concerns of my own.” 

A shudder of anger seemed fly through Dairon. “You came to me!” they spat. “You were the one who wanted to join our ranks, even knowing the complications it would bring!”

Beau bit back her instinctive response. She took a deep, slow, steadying breath, before saying, slowly and with great effort, “You’re right. Sarcasm comes easily to me when I feel cornered; it’s something I’m working on. I definitely still want this. How can I help?”

“Intel would be a good place to start. How many of your Troupe are with you in the city?”

“Just the inner circle,” Beau said. “No one else made it out of Zadash alive. In addition to me, that’s the Gentleman, the Sapphire, Sorah, Yasha, Mollymauk, and Cree.”

“I see.” Dairon nodded once, quick and decisive. “I need you to arrange a meeting for me.”

A jolt of paranoia shot through Beau. “Why?” she asked, making no attempt to hide her suspicion.

“I need to know what they know about Widogast,” Dairon said smoothly. “I’ll be happy to exchange whatever information I have on the local Myriad with them.”

An awful hunch was growing in Beau. “Is that so?” she asked, her voice shaking slightly. “Or are you setting up an ambush?”

Something flickered over Dairon’s face, far too fast for most people to identify, but Beau was not most people. Her hunch solidified into furious conviction. “When I took this job from you, we agreed that you would never ask me to betray my friends,” Beau said, no longer attempting to keep her fury from shaking her voice. “It was the only promise I fucking asked of you.”

“And I meant it when I said that,” Dairon said, heat rising in their voice, “but clearly the situation has changed. The Gentleman spent the entirety of last night’s party behind closed doors with Widogast. Fortunately, I am a very good spy, and I heard much of what was said - much that would have meant my life if I was discovered. They spent hours discussing in great detail all of the research materials that Widogast would want and need, and exactly how and for what prices your Troupe would be able to procure them for him. The list was astonishingly long and complex.”

“That wasn’t fucking real!” Beau said angrily. “We don’t have the fucking connections to deliver on shit right now! The Gentleman’s entire plan was to keep him talking long enough for the rest of us to gather info on Trianna! We have no intention of actually delivering on anything for him!”

“Oh really?” Dairon shot back. “You mean to tell me that once you have dealt with the kill order on all of you, you will not be in need of new partners, wealthy and influential ones, to rebuild your network? The patronage of someone like Widogast alone could make you one of the most dangerous and powerful gangs in the city.”

“I know how it looks!” Beau said, “But I swear, Dairon, that isn’t what’s going on. The Gentleman isn’t stupid enough to get in bed with someone like him, certainly not while lying to his only followers about it. Fucking trust me, okay?”

Dairon’s eyes were burning. Through gritted teeth, they said, “One of the items they discussed at length is arguably the most heavily guarded state secret in the entire Empire. The sum Widogast offered for it was exorbitant, and the Gentleman sounded positive that he could deliver it. With that item, Widogast could accelerate his research tenfold, enhance his power fiftyfold. I simply cannot take that chance.”

Dairon’s gaze softened momentarily. “I understand how hard this must be for you,” they said, “but protecting the world is not always easy, and it often demands more from us than we would choose to give otherwise. If it is any consolation, I can assure you that I do not mean your friends any harm. I intend only to question them, to ensure that they give me honest answers so that I may prevent the deaths of dozens, maybe hundreds, possibly even thousands. Most of your compatriots may not even serve sentences.”

Beau let out a bark of harsh laughter. “’Most’. ‘May not’. You should've been the con artist. Look, these people are more than friends to me, okay? They’re my… they’re my fucking family, alright? They’re the only people in my entire life to ever show me an ounce of decency, to give a shit about me as a person! So don’t fucking ask me to turn them over to you.”

“I care!” Dairon exploded. “I give a shit about you, Beauregard! You think you are the only one to come from a broken home, to suffer indignity after indignity through no fault of your own, to keep getting back up, no matter how hard you get knocked down? I have been you, Beauregard, and so I want nothing more than for you to succeed in life, to make something of it that will finally grant you the happiness that you deserve!”

Jester flashed through Beau’s mind, the light in her eyes, the sound of her laughter, the feeling of her head resting on Beau’s shoulder as Beau comforted her. “I have happiness,” she said softly.

Dairon’s face hardened into a mithral mask. “You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I am _asking_ you to do this,” they said. “As an Expositor of the Cobalt Soul, as your _superior_ , I am ordering you to bring the Gentleman’s Troupe to me.”

Slowly, Beau rose to her feet. Her throat was dry, her heart pounding. She could feel her ki pathways clear as day, and for this small mercy, she was grateful. Her voice soft with fury and bitter disappointment, she said, “Then you can consider this my fucking resignation.”

Dairon’s went very still. “Think carefully about what you are doing, Beauregard,” they said. “I do not want to be your enemy. Do not force me to play that role to you. Reconsider.”

“No.”

Darion’s face twisted, and suddenly it was not Dairon Beau was looking at. She once again stood before Thoreau Lionett, his face a visage of unhinged fury. But when he spoke, there was no mistaking Dairon’s voice. “Then go,” they snarled. “Run away to your little friends. Warn them I am coming, if you like. Perhaps they will show you mercy for betraying them and kill you quickly. From me, though, know that there will be no mercy; not for them, and not for you.”

Beau blinked hard, and Thoreau was gone. Somehow, her eyes were dry.

Dairon stood as well. When they spoke, their voice was soft as silk, hiding steel. “For your sake, and for whatever misguided affection I feel for you, I will pray to the Knowing Mistress that we never meet again. I suggest you do the same.”

Beau’s ears were ringing, but somehow a state of furious calm had settled over her. She leaned in close, until she and Dairon were nearly nose to nose. “ _When_ next we meet,” she said, her words as soft and sharp as the dagger she still carried in her boot, “I will be more than ready for you. Pray on _that_.”

She turned her back on Dairon and began to walk away, every sense in overdrive, waiting to see if Dairon would strike.

But Dairon just stood there as Beau left them behind.

* * *

It was past noon when Jester finally reached her destination. The Zhelezo had directed her to a very fancy place called the Lavish Chateau, but upon arriving there, Jester had been told very firmly that the Ruby of the Sea had retired two months ago, and was no longer receiving clients of any kind. It had taken lots of charm and magic, as well as a few bribes, before one of the staff had told Jester that he had heard that the Ruby had taken up residence at Arcos Manor on the outskirts of the city.

So now she stood at the foot of a long cobblestone path that meandered through beautifully kept grounds and up to the entrance of a grand house. Behind those doors, Jester would finally find her mom. The only thing standing in her way was a wrought iron gate, guarded by two attendants.

As she approached the gates, one of the attendants stepped forward to block her way. “What business do you have with the Lady of Arcos?” he asked condescendingly.

Suddenly nervous, Jester had to force a smile onto her face. “Oh, I’m just here to see the Ruby of the Sea,” she said.

The footman’s lips curled into an unpleasant smile. “I’m afraid Lady Lavorre does not take visits from uninvited strangers. You had best be on your way.”

“Wait,” Jester said, her heart pounding. “She’ll want to see me!” She would, right? “Please tell her that… that Genevieve Dosal is here to see her. Please.”

Her dad had always said that her mom had picked her birth name. She’d recognize it, wouldn't she?

The footman let out a disgruntled sigh. “Very well,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Wait here.” He pushed through the gates and began walking slowly up the road towards the manor.

Jester tore her eyes away from the man’s meandering and turned instead to the remaining attendant. “So…” she said, “How do you like working for Lady Lavorre?”

This footman was shorter and broader than the first one, and he gave Jester a searching, suspicious look before grunting, “She’s nice. Elegant. She’s brought a lot of joy to the house these last few months.”

“She sounds wonderful,” Jester said. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

The footman looked surprised. “You’ve never met her, but you're confident she’ll want to see you?”

“Oh, for sure!” Jester said. She would. She would.

She waited quietly after that, absentmindedly scuffing her foot against the cobble. Eventually, the first footman returned. Jester held her breath as he looked at her with confused curiosity. “Lady Lavorre will receive you immediately, Ms. Dosal,” he said, his tone all courtesy. “Please follow me.”

The relief those words brought was brief, replaced almost immediately by a rising surge of nervousness that only grew more intense as Jester drew closer and closer to the manor. She had dreamed of this moment so many times, had envisioned a thousand different versions of how her mom would pull her close, would weep with joy to see her alive and well and tell her how much she had missed her and her dad, and how wonderful it would be to be a complete, whole family.

But Jester’s fantasies hadn’t exactly been panning out lately. What if her mom wanted nothing to do with her? What if she didn’t believe that she was who she said she was? Or what if she did believe her and just didn’t care? What if she didn’t want a daughter she gave up on over two decades ago back in her life? Or worse, what if she hated her, reviled her for the person she had grown to be?

They were at the door. The footman pulled it ajar and gestured for Jester to enter. She stepped into a beautifully appointed sitting room. Elegant, but not extravagant. The furnishings were well-made, but not ostentatious, and the room looked too lived in to call it minimalist. The couches and chairs all looked super comfy, and one of them was occupied. A tiefling woman with deep red skin sat on a loveseat behind a coffee table. Her hair was piled on her head in a way that looked both messy and distinguished at the same time. There were faint laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth, and when she looked up at Jester, her heart stopped.

The woman stood, her face taking on an expression that Jester was too distracted to fully process. There was something of worry to the set of her mouth, something of trepidation to her eyes, and something of hope to her voice as she asked softly, “Genevieve? Is it… is it really you?”

Jester smiled tremulously. “Hi Mama.”

Tears welled in her woman’s eyes, and Jester’s vision blurred as hers did the same. Then she swayed as her mom slammed into her and wrapped her in a tight embrace.

The dam broke, and Jester hugged her mom back hard as she began to weep. She couldn’t say how long she stood there, oblivious to the world, soft hands rubbing gentle circles into her back. But eventually her mom released her, instead gripping Jester’s shoulders and holding her at arm’s length, looking at her like she was trying to drink in every ounce of her appearance at once.

“You’ve grown so much, Genevieve,” her mom said with a watery smile. Her hand reached up to the broken tip of Jester's horn. “You must have experienced so much.”

“I have, Mama, I have,” Jester said, smiling back at her. “And my name is Jester now.”

“Jester.” Her mom brushed a lock of Jester’s hair aside. “That’s such a lovely virtue name, though it is strange to think of you with another name. You’ve been static in my memory for so long.” She paused for a moment. “Did your father teach you about virtue names?”

“He did,” said Jester. “He’s here too, Mama, here in Nicodranas.”

Her mom’s face smoothed into something unreadable. “How is it that you both live? Why has it taken you so long to tell me that you’re alive?”

“Oh man, it’s a really, really long story,” Jester said, then paused for a moment as her nervousness resurged. Hesitantly, she said, “There’s a lot of it that I don’t know if you’ll like very much. We… we did some bad things to survive, Mama. I’ll tell you if you want, but… please don’t hate us, okay?”

Her mom regarded her solemnly. “Jester, you are my daughter, miraculously returned to me. I could never hate you, and I want very badly to know you. Please, tell me everything.” She turned to the footman. “Please fetch some tea for us.”

The footman bowed and left. Her mom turned back to Jester and gestured for her to sit next to her on the loveseat.

Jester did, and told her story.

The tea was cold by the time she was finished. The two cups sat nearly untouched on the coffee table.

“… and after a few years in Zadash, we were secure enough stop slave trading. Our bosses didn’t like that, but we got away with it for a few years. When they came down hard on us again, we took action to make sure we wouldn’t have to do it. The plan only kinda worked, though, so we improvised and had to come here. After we’re done doing what we have to do, we’re done with smuggling for good."

Her mom regarded her sadly as she finished her account. “That is… that is truly harrowing, Jester. I’m so sorry that your life has been so difficult. And I appreciate that Babenon wanted to protect me from the danger of this – that you want to as well, judging by what details you have omitted – but he should have told me you were alive. I deserved that closure, and to get to choose myself whether that danger was worth the risk.”

“I know, that’s what I thought!” said Jester. “That’s why I –“

There was a gentle knocking on one of the doors to the sitting room. Jester’s mom smiled apologetically at her and called out, “Come in!”

The door opened and a handsome human woman stepped into the room. Her face was sun-weathered, her hair more steel than black, pulled back in a tight ponytail, and she wore a rich blue longcoat. Her appearance was formidable, but her expression was surprisingly soft as she looked curiously from Jester to her mom.

“Marion,” she asked hesitantly, “would you want to join me for a late lunch?” She paused for a moment, then hastily added, “Your guest is more than welcome to join, of course.”

Her mom – Marion? – smiled up at the woman. “That would be wonderful, Sylvie. I, uh, I should make some introductions. Sylvie, this is Jester Dosal.” Jester watched Sylvie’s face crinkle in confused recognition. “She’s my daughter.”

Shocked realization broke across Sylvie’s face. “Your daughter?” she asked incredulously. “The one lost at sea?”

Jester stood up, smiling and extending a hand to shake. “Not quite lost,” she said. “More like kidnapped.”

Marion chuckled softly. “Jester, this is Lady Sylvia Arcos, Overlord of the Restless Wharf, and my wife.”

Wife.

The word rang in Jester’s ears, drowning out whatever was said next. Dimly, she was aware of Sylvie shaking her hand. With difficulty, she wrenched her focus back to the here and now.

“… I’ll go see to it that lunch is set out,” Sylvie was saying. “I’ll send someone to fetch you two in about ten minutes.” She gave Jester a warm smile. “I look forward to getting to know you better, Jester.” She turned away, kissed Marion on the cheek, and left the room.

Jester sat back down. Her mom was looking at her with some sort of tense anticipation. Jester managed a smile. “Sooo, how did you two meet?”

“She’ll be glad you asked me before dinner; Sylvie’s a little embarrassed by that story.” Marion leaned in and grinned wickedly. “Her late husband was a frequent client of mine when I still worked at the Lavish Chateau. Let us just say that that gave us ample time to bond.”

Jester snorted.

Her mom frowned. “You seem displeased,” she said, the calm of her tone belying a slight edge beneath it.

“No! No, I’m not!” Jester reassured her quickly. “I mean, I’m a little surprised – I thought nobles were kinda stupid about heirs and stuff –“

“- That is more of a Dwendalian hang up. Noble inheritance works differently here –“

“- But I always had this, this dumb fantasy that when I found you, you and my dad would, you know…” Jester shook her head. “Pretty stupid, I know.”

“No, Jester, no!” Marion said reassuringly. “It wasn’t a stupid thing to hope for, it was a perfectly understandable thing to hope for! But, well, life is a lot more complicated than how we imagine it in our heads sometimes.”

“I know that,” Jester said, her words sharper than she’d intended. The storm within her was suddenly right behind her lips, and when she opened her mouth, it came pouring out. “My world has always been, like, super complicated. Everyone is in it for themselves, no one is really trustworthy, and you always have to be watching for someone to betray you. Even people who aren’t looking to kill you the first time they can make a gold from doin it can't be trusted, because what if they want to cross lines that you don’t? The moment your interests diverge, you become dangerous liabilities to each other. That’s what I’ve lived with my whole life. Maybe in the last couple of years we’ve had a bit of stability and practice and luck, and that's reduced how much using and betraying we’ve had to do, but that way of being has never been far away – we’ve made ourselves vulnerable to it by looking for people we can trust, and we’ve put ourselves in a situation where we care about people that we might have to betray. It's awful and I hate it.

“So I had to believe that there are things outside of the life I live that are simple, that are just good, just perfect, that maybe someday I could have some of those things. Maybe if I really, really tried, I could take something out of a story and make it my own. I could have the knight in shining armor, the good and just and kind and heroic man that always does what is right, always loves with all his heart, always knows just what to say to make his lady love feel like the most amazing, important, beautiful woman in the whole world. I had to believe that the stories weren’t just stories, I just had to. My life is full of so much shit, so much hurt and complication, that I had to believe that, outside of it, there were things that were just good.”

Jester shook her head. She felt wrung out, drained, but each word had been a relief, like a weight being lifted. She sighed, then said, “But that isn’t how it is, is it? There’s no perfection, no black and white – it’s all just grey, isn’t it?"

Marion reached out and took Jester’s hand. “It’s true that there are few things that are perfect,” she said gently, “but there are many things that are good. There are many things that are wonderful, that can be wonderful, if you know how to see them for what they are. It is the work of a lifetime, finding happiness and satisfaction, but it _can_ be done. The world may be greys, as you say, but do not make the mistake of thinking all greys are the same. There are lighter greys, and there are darker ones. Do not let yourself forget that things that are imperfect can still be better than you could ever imagine.”

“But how do I know what things are good enough?” Jester asked, her voice rising shrilly as her emotions mounted. “Right now, me and my dad are trying to get completely out of crime. But to do it, I have to do some really bad things. I have to hurt people I really, really care about. How do I know that it’ll be worth it?”

“Well,” Marion said slowly, “obviously I do not know all the details here. But from what you have told me, it sounds like you know the life you’ve been living well enough to know that it has not made you happy, and to know why. Maybe whatever you try next won’t end up being what you want either, but you’ll never find what you want if you don’t keep trying. As for whether the cost will be too high…” She pursed her lips and gave Jester a look full of caring. “Again, I do not know the details, but it has been my experience that, when you are used to having to compromise to get what you want, sometimes you make sacrifices that you do not need to. Maybe there is a way to get what you want without hurting the people you care about.”

Jester sat with that for awhile. What would her friends say, really, if she told them the truth? Would they tear her to pieces, like her dad said, furious that she had endangered their lives for her own benefit? Would they content themselves with walking away, leaving Jester to watch her plan fall apart and, in all likelihood, to die in a trap of her own making?

Or would they help her? Would they care about her enough, really care enough, to march into the jaws of death for her emancipation, even knowing that it would leave them adrift in a world that had never shown them an ounce of kindness?

There was no answer to that question that didn’t terrify her. So she asked a different one.

“Did you love him?” Jester asked.

Marion smiled, a sweet, sad smile full of long fondness. “I did,” she said. “And I still love the man that he was. Half a lifetime removed, and I have no regrets.”

“And… do you love Sylvie too?”

“With all my heart. It took me a long time to be sure, and a longer time to dare to act, but I have never been happier in all my life.” Marion put a hand on Jester’s cheek and looked at her fondly. “There is so much happiness waiting for you in your life, Jester. I hope you can find it. I hope I can be a part of it.”

Jester’s eyes overflowed, and she threw her arms around her mom. “Of course you can be part of it, Mama!” she said, sniffling.

Marion hugged her back and held her tight, and for an infinite moment, Jester knew that everything was perfect.

Eventually, a knock came at the sitting room door again, and Jester let go. Marion dabbed tears from her eyes and stood up. “Are you ready for lunch?” she asked.

Jester nodded and stood as well. “Super ready.” As they walked to the door, Jester turned to her mom and smiled. “Does your wife have any other embarrassing stories we could trick her into telling?"

Marion grinned. "Sylvie, darling," she called ahead of them, "my daughter was just asking me how you first asked me out."

An agonized groan issued from the dining room in response, and Marion laughed, the sound light and fond and beautiful. Jester smiled tremulously as it washed over her, and she followed her mom out of the sitting room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shoutout to the surprising number of people who caught up on the fic this chapter:NightingaleDream, voidwarlock, and especially TheClockStrikesTwelve410, who left me an absolutely wonderful, incredibly detailed comment that made my entire week. Thank you all so much for sticking with me through this behemoth of a fic.


	26. Epiphany

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been looking forward to writing this one for months :)

The city was blurry as Beau walked back to the Grey Grouse. Her eyes stung, her throat clenched, and the beat of her heart struck her ribs like a war hammer. The clarity of her conviction had dissolved barely a block from the Rotting Porpoise, the furious words she had spoken to Dairon echoing over and over again in her mind until they had warped and unraveled into an incoherent mess of rage and hurt and grief. Her heart ached like a rotting tooth.

 _So much for a future,_ Beau thought. _Better enjoy this while it lasts, because there’s nothing else._

That was as much as she could force the feelings into words. Each time she tried to restructure them, to give them specificity and purpose, her thoughts spiraled in on themselves, growing ever more confused and distorted until the sentences she wove may as well have been gibberish. So instead she let them wash over her like breakers in a storm, until they carried her back to the Grey Grouse. It was not a quick process, and the afternoon sun was well on its way to evening by the time she stepped back into the perpetually deserted barroom.

Molly sat alone now, looking bored, a deck of cards spread in front of him. Beau glanced around the room, but saw no sign of Yasha or anyone else. That was for the best, she decided. It would make what she needed to do easier. A sense of sick anticipation built in her as she approached Molly’s table.

Molly rolled his eyes at her approach. “Guess I found time to play with myself after all, didn’t I? How was your walk?”

“Where’s Yasha?” Beau asked.

“The Gentleman sent her off to get some supplies,” Molly said, seemingly unperturbed by her non-answer. “He got back about an hour ago. Sent Cree right back out immediately to do even more scouting, told me to keep an eye on the front room on the _off chance_ that someone swings by this gods-forsaken dump, then locked himself and Sorah in his room for a ‘strategy meeting’.” He snorted and started raking in his cards. “With how long they’ve been in there, I’d have thought I’d’ve gotten more of a show out of it. You know, some moans, some screams, at the very least some furniture creaking, anything to break up the monotony.”

“Well, you can consider your monotony officially broken.” Beau sat down, then called out, “Barkeep! Two glasses and a bottle of mezcal!”

As the bartender started awake and began rummaging around for glasses, Molly tilted his head inquisitively and asked, “Am I back to enabling you, then?”

Beau took a measured breath. “You’re not enabling me, you’re looking out for me,” she said. “There’s too fucking little to occupy me right now, so I’m either going to end up drinking myself stupid in my room, or you’re going to keep an eye on me and keep me from overdoing it out here. Plus, I think doing this in company is going to be more productive.”

Molly’s expression was controlled, searching. Beau met it as evenly as she could, wishing she didn’t feel so much like she was trying to convince herself. Anticipation and guilt warred inside her. She tried to ignore them both; this was about dealing with her shit, the only way that was available to her. Obviously it would be better if she could talk to someone about it, but there was no one she trusted that wouldn’t immediately eviscerate her for betraying them if she tried. It was this, or self-destruct.

The bartender arrived with the bottle and glasses, retreating quickly after setting them down. Beau poured a generous measure into each glass, then passed one to Molly. She raised her glass in a toast, which Molly slowly mirrored. He drank, and Beau hesitated, momentarily caught between intense impulses pulling her in opposite directions. But she squared her resolve, and then the rim was at her lips and the smooth burn of liquor was on her tongue and _god damn if she hadn’t missed this_. The sensation was heavenly as the mezcal burned down her throat, and for a single moment she basked in that elation, before an equally potent wave of self-disgust slammed into her. She took another drink, and that helped.

Molly was watching her, a strange expression on his face. Beau didn’t particularly care for it.

“What?” she asked sharply. “I thought you weren’t about judging people.”

“Not generally, no,” he said, “but I am in the business of being nosy. So I’m just wondering what the hell happened on a few hour walk that knocked you off the wagon.”

Beau snorted. “Keep wondering,” she said, “but here’s something I’m curious about. Why the fuck are you here? Why follow us to Nicodranas? I know you like me and Jester well enough, but you’re not a true believer in the Gentleman, and you fucking hate Cree. Why didn’t you take the opportunity to cut your losses and run?”

“You’re not a true believer in the Gentleman either,” Molly pointed out. “I could ask you the same question.”

Beau took another drink. “Sure, I think our boss is a slimy fuck,” she said, “but he respects me. He values me. I don’t have anywhere else I could go where that’d be true.” She snorted again. “I don’t have anywhere else I could go, period.”

“Oh, please,” Molly said, rolling his eyes. “There’s no need to be all edgier-than-thou about it. You could start over somewhere new just as easy as me and Yasha.”

Beau shook her head emphatically. “Nah, I don’t think so. People like you.” She finished her glass and poured another.

“You didn’t,” Molly pointed out.

“Yeah, well, I’m a prickly asshole, right? People don’t like me, and I don’t like likable people,” Beau said. “Fucking miracle I made it into anyone’s good graces here. No chance that I manage it again. You all are the only real friends I’ve ever had, or probably will ever have. Better to end up dead in a ditch with you than without you.”

“I mean, I’m all for dying in a ditch,” Molly said reasonably, pouring himself a new drink as well, “but that’s the kind of life I’ve actively chosen. You, though… I always got the impression you were running from something, rather than actually looking for a short and merry life.”

Beau shrugged. “Does it matter?” She was beginning to feel the pleasant blurring of the alcohol, and she took another large swallow to hasten it.

“Of course it does,” Molly said. “I made a choice, with my eyes wide open, to court a life of danger and excitement. I’m here for it. I’m an active participant, and I’m savoring every minute of it. You, though, I think whatever you’re running from scares the hell out of you, and everything you do is just to try to distract you from that fear for a little bit.”

“Okay, I didn’t ask you to fucking psychoanalyze, me. Fuck,” Beau shook her head, then downed the rest of her drink. She filled the glass yet again.

“Better nurse that one – I’m cutting you off once you finish it.”

“The hell you are.”

Molly raised his hands innocently. “I’m just following your instructions. Keeping an eye on you.”

Harsh words rose to Beau’s lips, but she felt another surge of guilt in her chest, so she just nodded and took a sip.

Molly leaned forward. “Anyway, all I’m saying is that maybe you should think about what you actually want, long term, and figure out how to get it.”

The alcohol was really taking hold now, and the rational part of Beau’s mind that knew better than to speak her mind was too slow to stop the words that bubbled up from that deep, hurt place in her chest, the words that caused her throat to clench and her eyes to sting as they flowed to her lips and forced their way into being.

“Maybe I already tried,” she said slowly, painfully. “Maybe I found a future I wanted, but I couldn’t pay the price it would’ve cost to have it.”

Molly raised an eyebrow at her. “ _Maybe_ you did this?”

Beau could feel herself shaking. She took a big drink to calm herself. In a cracked, dry voice, barely more than a whisper, she said, “I got an offer from the Cobalt Soul. I could’ve been an Expositor, they said. I could use my skills to take down more people like Lorenzo and Ionos Jagentoth.” She swallowed dryly, then continued, “There’s still a decent chance I would’ve died in a ditch, but at least I would’ve died knowing that I had left the world a better place than I found it.”

Molly’s scrutiny was intense. “Why didn’t you take it?”

Beau couldn’t meet his eyes. “They wanted me to turn all of you in. They think the Gentleman is involved in some big picture fucked up shit, and they want all of his inner circle too.”

Molly frowned. “And you told them no? You probably could’ve gotten them to leave Jester out of it, you know, if you negotiated with them and turned over the rest of us.”

“I don’t just care about Jester!” Beau hissed angrily. “What the fuck, Molly? You think I’d sell out you and Yasha? You’ve all… You’ve all been the only people to ever really give a shit about me, okay? There aren’t any words for how fucking much you all mean to me. I know this isn’t going to last forever – even if we don’t die here in Nicodranas, or later in Zadash, I’ll do something to fuck all this up eventually. But there’s no future I want that doesn’t have you guys in it.” Eyes burning, chin trembling, Beau reached for her glass and slammed back its remaining contents, then set it down hard on the table. “So there!”

Silence followed her words, and after a moment, Beau looked up. Molly was wearing an expression that Beau had never seen on him before. There was something almost tender to the cast of his features, and Beau could see the faintest hint of a tear in the corner of one eye. Silently, he reached out and refilled Beau’s glass.

Slowly, he spoke, and his tone was unlike any Beau had ever heard from him. The words were soft and sincere, devoid of any trace of humor or amusement. He said, “Beau, I… I find myself abashed. I am, truly, genuinely, honored to call you my friend. And I will do everything I can to deserve to be yours.”

He raised his glass in a toast, and, slowly, uncertainly, Beau mirrored him. Together, they drank deep.

Molly let out a sigh and wiped the corner of his eye. Then his standard, half-amused smile returned to his face. “I will deny having said that until the day I die, of course,” he said.

“Oh fuck, I hope so,” Beau said, sniffing softly as she wiped at her own eyes. “I’m, like, really embarrassed for you for saying that.”

Molly chuckled. “Actually nurse that one,” he said. “After that, I really am cutting you off.”

Beau rolled her eyes and smiled.

* * *

Jester stayed a good while after lunch had finished, enraptured as she was by her conversation with her mom and Sylvie, but eventually she forced herself to make her excuses.

“I really have to get back,” she said through her laughter as Sylvie finished the story of how she’d gotten her first tattoo. “I didn’t quite tell anyone where I was going, and my dad is probably getting pretty worried about me.”

“Oh of course, I’m so sorry for keeping you this long!” her mom said, rising from her chair. Jester and Sylvie followed suit, and Marion led them both back to the front room. She hesitated for a moment, before saying, “Give him my best wishes, will you Jester?”

Jester shifted uncomfortably. “He’d be really upset if he found out I put you in danger by coming to see you,” she said. “But maybe in a few days you can tell him yourself!”

It was Marion’s turn to shift uncomfortably. “Maybe,” she said uncertainly. Then a look of excitement flashed across her face. “Oh, I have something I need to give you! Jester, wait right here, I’ll be back in just a moment!” Without waiting for a response, her mom turned tail and rushed up the stairs and out of the room.

Sylvie gave Jester a sheepish look.

“This has to be kind of awkward for you, right?” Jester asked.

Sylvie shrugged. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting to discover that I had an adult stepdaughter when I woke up this morning,” she said, “but I’ve had a lot of unwelcome surprises in my life, and I don’t think you’re one of them.”

“Oh,” Jester said. She felt taken aback, and also a little touched.

They lapsed into a slightly awkward silence for a few moments, before Sylvie said uncertainly, “I know this probably isn’t the most comfortable thing for you either, Jester, so I just want you to know that you’re always welcome here, okay? We might not really know each other yet, but you are family. And, just, that matters to me. So. You know.”

Sylvie rubbed the back of her head awkwardly as she trailed off. Jester smiled. “You know, I always imagined that one day, I would get my mom and dad back together,” she said, “but I’m really glad my mom has you. She obviously really loves you.”

Sylvie snorted. “I certainly hope so!” she said. “I thought for the longest time that my feelings for her were one-sided, you know. I’d hate to find out I was right after all, and she thought we were just, like, friends married.”

Jester laughed.

A few moments later, Marion returned, hurrying down the stairs, something clutched in one hand. She came to a stop in front of Jester. Sounding slightly winded, she said, “Around the time we found out I was pregnant, your father gave me this.” She opened her hand, and Jester gasped.

In her hand was a beautiful pendant. Sitting within a silver setting was a radiantly cut diamond in the shape of a heart. It hung from a slender silver chain, and it sparkled so brilliantly that it seemed to evanesce.

“It’s gorgeous, Mama,” Jester said softly.

“It is,” her mom said. “I’d like you to have it.”

“I – really?” she asked, stunned.

“Yes, really,” her mom said, smiling. She reached forward and lifted the chain over Jester’s head. Jester felt the pendant come to rest against her chest. Beneath it, her heart swelled.

“Mama,” Jester said, at a loss for words. She didn’t know how to express how much this meant to her.

Fortunately, her mom seemed to understand. She reached out and pulled Jester into a hug, tilting Jester’s head down to rest against her shoulder. “Do what you have to do, my dear Jester,” she said softly, her voice full of emotion. “Then come back to me safe.”

“I will, Mama,” Jester whispered back to her.

They broke apart. Marion sniffed softly and dabbed at her eyes.

Sylvie offered her hand to Jester. “It was wonderful to meet you,” she said.

Jester smiled, then stepped forward and hugged her. “It was wonderful to meet you too.”

“Oh,” Sylvie said. She patted Jester awkwardly on the back. Jester smiled and let go.

“Better get going,” she said.

“Goodbye,” said Marion. “Don’t be gone so long this time.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

A footman bowed Jester out of the manor.

As she descended the long cobble path to the front gate, Jester tucked the heart pendant into the front of her shirt and felt it nestle in between her breasts. It’d be hard for anyone to steal it from there without her noticing.

There was a skip in her step as she made her way back on to the streets of Nicodranas, and a feeling of lightness in her whole body that took Jester slightly by surprise. There was a simple happiness to her, the kind that she hadn’t felt since she left Zadash. A wide smile broke over her face.

She had found her mom! Her mom was happy to see her, happy to have her in her life, and more importantly, her mom had a life she was happy with! Jester felt a warm fuzzy feeling build inside her as she thought about all the little loving looks her mom had exchanged with Sylvie, their casual intimacy, the way her mom had been able to make Sylvie blush and squirm with little anecdotes lovingly told. It had been obvious how in love they were.

It wasn’t a kind of love Jester had ever really imagined before. So much of what she knew of love was high romance, grand gestures, angst and yearning and uncertainty followed by dramatic, passionate relief. Some of it was tragic and soulful, like the way her dad’s eyes got when he talked about his youth in Nicodranas. So little of it was about the casual, domestic comfort she had just witnessed.

Their love story was nothing like any of the love stories she’d read about either, Jester was certain of that. The little glimpses and pieces she’d gathered from that conversation painted a picture that was slow, mundane, almost accidental, more like the development of an ever-deepening bond of friendship, until, almost without either of them noticing, it had become something else.

It wasn’t a fairytale romance, but maybe… maybe there was no such thing. Maybe that was okay. Maybe Jester could be okay with that, knowing that it was possible for the kind of love that she had just witnessed to arise from weird and mundane circumstances. She could only hope that one day her wife would look at her the way Sylvie looked at her mom.

Wait.

A sense of awful, gut-churning vertigo washed over Jester, stopping her dead in her tracks. She shook her head. That was ridiculous! Clearly, she meant husband; it was just the lingering image of her mom and Sylvie. That was just where her mind had been. Frustratingly, though, she couldn’t get her mind to move on. She couldn’t shake the mental image of herself, older and prettier, sitting comfortably on a loveseat, draped over a faceless woman. With each moment that that mental image remained fixed, she could feel an uncomfortable tingling sensation spreading throughout her whole body, growing in intensity. It was rapidly becoming unbearable, and she couldn’t seem to shake it! Why couldn’t she shake it? The last time she had felt something even remotely like this had been –

Had been at the end of her dance with Beau.

Jester shook her head again, harder. But that didn’t mean anything, right? That couldn’t possibly mean _that_ , could it? She liked boys! She may not have been in love with Fjord, but she had _certainly_ been in lust with him; she had the steamy dreams to prove it. That weirdness with Beau was just a one-off, an anomaly, the result of a bunch of powerful emotions mixing together at that particular moment. That was all.

But that wasn’t the only time being around Beau had made her feel strange. Jester found herself flashing back to many different moments that being in Beau’s presence had made her feel… odd. There had been that morning when Jester went to wake Beau up for their day off, and she had answered the door in sweat-soaked workout clothes that clung to her in a way that Jester couldn’t quite manage to look away from. And there had been that night in Shady Creek Run, after Beau had had her breakdown. Jester had cuddled her in bed, and even as focused as she’d been on making sure Beau felt safe and cared for, she couldn’t quite ignore the frisson that had gone through her body when she had wrapped her arm around Beau’s bare chest. And that night in Hupperdook, when they had climbed to the roof to watch the fireworks…

Jester could feel her thoughts beginning to pile up on themselves, like the press of too many people trying to fit through a door. She started walking again, giving her head a third shake, trying to will the knot to untangle.

So what did it all mean? If Jester did, actually, like, _like_ girls – and she carefully avoided picturing any specific girl as she thought this – what did that mean for her? She wasn’t some noble, obsessed with heir and heritage, or one of their sycophantic hangers-on who copied every prejudice of the upper class in the hopes of being allowed to join them. She’d grown up surrounded by people with attractions across the gender spectrum. Even ignoring her friends, her dad, Sorah, and Cree had all been open about the width and breadth of their attractions. Or, well, maybe open was the wrong word for Cree, but she’d never been secretive about it.

It was just that Jester had never pictured herself that way! All of her stories had always been about a man and a woman, deeply and powerfully in love. Even the archetypical love story, the one to which she compared all others – her mom and dad’s – had been that way. That was the kind of story Jester had always wanted for herself.

But hadn't she just admitted to herself that those stories weren’t really what love was like at all? If she could accept that the shape of her own story wouldn’t be the same, then why couldn’t it also have different players?

Jester let the image of her, older and sitting on that loveseat with her wife, flow back to the front of her thoughts, and she forced herself to look at it, even as she felt the butterflies begin to build in her stomach. What did it mean? Did she feel uncomfortable because it was a future she didn’t want? Or because it was future she di?

She just didn’t know.

Eventually, the Grey Grouse came back into sight. To Jester’s surprise, she saw Sorah leaning against the wall near the front door, arms crossed and face stormy.

“Sorah!” Jester called out. “Is everything okay? Where’s my dad?”

Sorah looked up. “Sapphire!” she called back, something like relief in her voice. “Where the fuck have you been? We were about to send out a search party!”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Jester said, smiling brightly. “I just wanted to go for a walk around the city. Don’t worry, I stayed away from the Open Quay – I just didn’t want there to be an argument about it.”

“You should go tell your father,” Sorah said. “He’s been working very hard to keep his composure about it, but he's been extremely worried.”

“Where is he?” Jester asked again. She glanced around the street, trying to catch sight of him.

Sorah’s face darkened again. “In his room, as far as I know,” she said.

“As far as you know?” Jester asked. “Why aren’t you with him?”

“We’re not joined at the hip, okay?” Sorah said angrily. “I am off duty sometimes.”

Jester’s jaw dropped, and she clapped a hand to her mouth to cover it. “Omigosh, are you two fighting?”

Sorah snorted. “Not sure if that’s the right word, but I am angry with him. Don’t worry,” she added hastily, seeing Jester’s expression, “I’m not going to let any harm come to him. But I don’t want to see him right now.”

Jester had no idea how to respond to that.

“Look, just go tell him you’re safe, okay?” Sorah said.

Jester shifted uncomfortably. “I will, I totally will, but there’s something else I kinda need to do first. Do you know where Yasha is?”

Sorah looked surprised. “Yeah, she’s down the street buying grapnels and breathing reeds, but why –“

“Where at?” Jester asked.

“The Deep Diver Supplier, but –“

“Okay thanks bye!” Jester said quickly before hurrying away, Sorah’s confusion drifting after her on the ocean air.

As it turned out, Yasha was actually _outside_ of the Deep Diver Supplier, sitting awkwardly on a stool. The rhythmic clang of metal on metal rang out from the interior of the small shop. As Jester hurried towards her, Yasha looked up, eyes widening.

“Jester!” she said, “Hi! What, um, what are you doing here?”

“Yasha, I need to ask you something really, really important,” Jester said, breathing hard. “Will you help me?”

“I – of course!” Yasha said, a bit taken aback. “What do you need?”

Jester took a deep breath, then, in a breathless rush, she said, “Howdidyouknowyouwereintogirls?”

“I, um,” Yasha shook her head, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What?”

“How. Did. You. Know. You. Liked. Girls.” Jester said, trying to slow her speech down from the breakneck pace her heart was making in her chest. She could feel herself practically vibrating.

Yasha looked Jester up and down, slowly, the expression on her face slowly morphing from one of bewilderment to one of thoughtfulness. For some reason, that made Jester’s cheeks burn.

“You know, I don’t think it was all at once,” Yasha said after a few long moments. “There was just this, this feeling I got around girls, from the time I was very young, that I never got around boys. It was, I don’t know, this desire for closeness? Like, whenever I got into brawls, I always tried to fight other girls, because for some reason I wanted to be the one to tackle them and pin them to the ground? And it was other things too. Like, sometimes I would get really jealous when one of my girl friends wanted to play with a boy instead of me. Or whenever the other girls started talking about who they hoped got chosen to be their husband, I would always just kind of pick someone at random.” Yasha paused for a moment, humming thoughtfully. Then she shrugged and said, “It was a feeling that came out in a lot of ways, I guess, but it took me a long time to put words to it.”

“Okay,” Jester said, “but what if, hypothetically, you liked boys too? How would you know you liked girls?”

Yasha regarded Jester with an expression that Jester wasn’t entirely comfortable with. “I think,” she said gently, “that you would need to consider that maybe attraction can feel different for a lot of reasons, but that, in one way or another, it makes you feel excited to be near someone, to do things with the person you’re attracted to that you probably wouldn’t want to do with other people, and that that can also make you really nervous, but a different kind of nervousness from thinking about someone you actively don’t want to do things with. Hypothetically.”

In the space between one heartbeat and the next, a thousand memories flashed through Jester’s mind. Beau, strutting into the Evening Nip after closing a big sale. Beau, soaked in sweat, her expression somewhere between a snarl and a smile as she dodged Yasha’s blows. The look of impish delight on Beau’s face as they slathered paint all over the statue of the Platinum Dragon together. The sparkle in Beau’s eyes as she talked excitedly about something new she’d read on her last visit to the Cobalt Soul. The silkiness of Beau’s hair as Jester helped her redo her braid. The warmth of Beau’s arm, threaded through her own.

The way her lips looked, soft and half-parted, as Jester stared up at her at the end of their dance.

Jester sat down hard in the middle of the road and put her face in her hands. “Yasha?” she half-groaned, “I maybe wasn’t asking hypothetically.”

To Yasha’s credit, she tried to sound surprised. “Oh, really?” she said, the words slow and jerky but completely flat in affect. “Wow, Jester, that’s, that’s just really, uh, surprising. Um, wow.”

Jester felt an embarrassed whimper pass her lips, and she took one hand away from her face to bat it in the air in Yasha’s general direction. “Gods, I’m such an idiot!”

She felt Yasha’s hand come to rest hesitantly on her shoulder. “I feel like everyone has to be an idiot sometimes,” Yasha said.

Jester leaned into Yasha’s comforting touch for a moment, then stood up. “Maybe, but I’m ready to be done for awhile.” She ran her hands through her hair, trying to make it less of a flyaway mess. She smiled at Yasha. “Wish me luck!”

“I – good luck?” Yasha said uncertainly, but Jester had already turned and started walking as fast as she could. Nervous excitement was soaring in her, more powerful than anything she’d ever felt before. She felt giddy – her head was practically swimming with it.

Beau. Just the thought of her name made Jester’s blood sing. She was in love with Beau! She couldn’t believe how oblivious she’d been, how much time she’d wasted, but oh, what a perfect story it all made! Beau, the harsh loner with a heart of gold, the brooding wanderer who had come into Jester’s life so surrounded in mystery. It had been a long game for the ages, no doubt about that. It had taken so much care, so much time and understanding, to peel away the layers of angst and artifice to find the sheer perfection that lay beneath. Jester shook her head in wonder. Who could have guessed that her storybook love story had been right by her side all this time, and all she had needed to do was open her eyes enough to see it!

The sun was setting over Nicodranas. Wreathed in its rosy light, Jester pushed her way into the Grey Grouse.

* * *

“… and Yasha never tried to juggle again!”

Beau laughed, light and easy. Her whole body felt loose and relaxed in a way it hadn’t for a long time. How much of that was the unburdening of her guilt and how much was the alcohol was an open question, but she wasn’t in the mood to look this blessing in the mouth. Molly’s eyes were dancing with mirth at the conclusion of his story, and Beau just wanted to let this mellow happiness stretch out for as long as it could. She took another sip of mezcal, mindful of how little was left in her glass.

She held it out towards Molly. “Come on,” she said, “I’m doing fine! Top me off again!”

Molly smiled and wagged a finger at her dramatically. “Don’t you start on me again!” he said. “You can ride your current buzz as far as you want, but a deal’s a deal. I, on the other hand, will be having another!”

“You fucker!” Beau exclaimed with jovial affront as Molly poured himself another glass. “I bought that, you know!”

“And I toast your generosity!” Molly said dramatically, raising his glass.

Laughing, Beau clinked hers against it, then glanced towards the front of the tavern as she heard the door creek open. She felt the smile freeze on her face as what she saw sent a jolt of the worst feeling she’d ever felt through her whole body.

Jester stepped into the tavern room, practically radiating excitement and energy. Beau could almost imagine she saw a glow around her, a glow that snuffed like a candle when Jester’s eyes fell on her.

The whole world was quiet as they stared at each other. Beau’s heart was in her throat. Any trace of calm or happiness was gone – she felt disgusting. Her whole body felt squishy and bloated, the metallic tang of sour sweat filled her nostrils, bile surged in her stomach, and her mind would not click into gear. Through dry, cracked lips, she managed to force a word out.

“Jester,” she rasped, a plea and an apology.

Slowly, Jester walked towards her. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Her eyes were pools of hurt. “I’m back!” she said, her voice painfully bright and brittle. “What have you guys been up to today?”

Beau looked at Molly. Molly shrugged, seeming relatively unconcerned, and took another drink. She looked back to Jester. “Jester, we – I just –“

Jester held up a hand, cutting her off. “Don’t even worry about it,” she said, the tremor in her voice giving lie to her words.

“Where have you been all day?” Molly asked.

“Oh, you know, just walking,” Jester said lightly, turning towards him. “I had a lot to think about after last night. About the plan and all, I mean.” She did not look at Beau, and Beau felt her heart clench even tighter. “What’re you drinking?”

“Mezcal,” Molly said, a note of caution creeping into his voice.

“Oh, cool!” Jester said. “I guess that makes sense, since I ruined your last bottle and all.” She nodded once, very deliberately. “Here, let me try.” Beau watched in astonishment as she leaned forward and snatched the bottle off the table, then in alarm as she raised it to her lips and tipped the bottle all the way back. She saw Jester’s eyes widen, and she broke off, coughing and spluttering violently. Mezcal sprayed from her mouth in a fine mist, and lines of it trickled from the corners of her mouth.

Beau surged to her feet, reaching for her. “Are you alright?”

Jester waved her off, smacking away the hand that Beau had extended. It would’ve hurt less if Jester had stabbed her. “Oh, I’m fine, don’t worry!” Jester insisted. “Wow, that’s good stuff, I can see why you were so attached to yours, Molly!” She took another gulp, much more successfully this time.

Beau stared at her, at a complete loss for what to do, as Jester took another two enormous swallows. “Alright,” she said after she finished, and Beau could already hear the beginning of a slur to her words. “Great seeing both of you. Always a pleasure, Molly. I think I’m gonna go walk some more.”

“Jester, it’s almost night!” Beau protested. “It’d be really, really fucking stupid to go wandering right now.”

“Oh don’t worry Beau,” Jester said, and there was a deep pain and vitriol behind her words that brought Beau up short. “I’ll be perfectly fine. I can manage myself.” And without another word, Jester turned and stormed out of the bar, taking the bottle with her.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Beau turned to Molly. “We have to go after her,” she said with barely contained desperate urgency.

“And do what?” Molly asked, his voice heavy. “She clearly doesn’t want us around right now, and she’s more than capable of losing us with magic if we force the issue. And pardon my manners, but you've got the face of someone looking to do something really fucking stupid the moment you’re pushed. I’m not interested in spending my night wrangling you around the city.”

A tide of hopeless self-hatred rose in Beau’s chest. “Fine,” she said, her voice shakin, “then leave me here. Just go help her.”

“Hello, did you not hear me?” Molly said angrily. “I’m not going to give you the push to do something stupid by leaving you alone. I’m taking you up to your room until you’ve sobered up a bit and calmed down a lot.”

“I said I’m fucking fine, Molly!” Beau all but yelled. “I don’t need you mothering me!”

“Bullshit you’re fine,” Molly said savagely. “I was in that cart when you were drying out too, you know. I know what fine looks like for you, and this isn’t it.”

“Whatever,” Beau spat. “Just fucking go get her, okay? I don’t matter. She does.”

Fury surged behind Molly’s eyes. “Never fucking insult me like that again,” he snarled. “You think I’d give a shit about you if you didn’t matter? Now come on.” He grabbed her by the front of her shirt and yanked her towards the stairs.

For a moment, Beau resisted, staring at the door that Jester had vanished through. She could feel her heart trying to tear out of her chest to get to that door. She wanted nothing more than to get to that door.

But she’d already disappointed herself plenty today. Beau felt herself go slack, and she let Molly pull her away and up the stairs.

* * *

Her throat burning, her head and eyes swimming, Jester burst back out onto the streets of Nicodranas. Already the light was fading from rose to red and soon to blue as the sun vanished beneath the sea. Jester paused for a moment to take a long, painful swig before hurling the bottle as hard as she could against the ground. The explosion of glass and liquid sprayed into her legs, and Jester numbly registered several lines of blood appearing on her skin. She mumbled a quick invocation, and the red vanished beneath green light, which faded away and left only blue skin. Her head spinning, Jester began to walk, paying no attention to her direction.

Hot tears of disappointment and anger burned down her face. Stupid! How could she have been so stupid? All that thought, all those hard-won realizations, all that painful acknowledgment that there was no such thing as perfect, fairytale love, and it had all gone out the window the moment she let herself admit that she thought Beau was cute. Stupid!

How had she let herself get so carried away? She hadn’t even hesitated a moment to shove Beau up on a pedestal and go chasing after her like she was some shiny prize that Jester would get as a reward for admitting she liked girls. Beau was her best friend, the person she knew best in the world outside of maybe her dad, and Jester had immediately blinded herself to all of Beau’s very real struggles and flaws and grey areas. And she’d gotten what she deserved, having them all flung in her face in the most dramatic way possible.

Jester could feel the alcohol taking hold, the sick distortion of her vision and her balance, the awful feeling of her thoughts being smothered. Clarity was slipping further and further from her grasp, while the vague pulse of overwhelming emotion grew stronger and stronger. She could taste despair on her tongue.

She’d waited so long for romance and for love. She’d resisted all manner of temptation, shoved down her own desires and impulses, all in preparation for the arrival of some transcendentally perfect moment when they would all come together in a way that would absolutely sweep her off her feet. And now, after all those years, she finally knew that she had been waiting in vain.

What a miserable fucking waste.

A sob burst from Jester’s mouth, and then another. She pressed herself hard against the wall of a nearby building and tried desperately to get herself under control. Her chest heaved with uneven, gasping breaths. It took a long time to get a full breath in. Eventually, though, she forced her tears down. They left behind an aching hollowness in their wake. It was a hollowness both foreign and intimately familiar, and Jester hated its presence. She was done with it.

It didn’t take her long to flag down a Zhelezo. “Hello!” she called out. “I need to find a brothel!”

The Zhelezo frowned at her. “Okay,” they said slowly, “are you looking for anything in particular, or…”

“The nearest brothel, please,” Jester said, smiling emphatically.

It was only a few more minutes of walking to reach the Misted Window. The front window of the place, Jester noticed, wasn’t actually misted over, just made of fogged glass. She pushed through the front door and into a modest sitting room. Shuttered candles cast a dim light over the room, which was cluttered with a collection of velvet chairs and couches and chaises, all occupied by people clad in outfits of diaphanous gauze. The composition was almost entirely human, Jester noted with slight surprise. There were a few halflings in the mix, and a rather lanky half-orc woman, but otherwise…

There was a front counter, a podium of sorts, behind which an older woman with a kind smile stood. “Welcome to the Misted Window,” she called out softly. “What desires can we satisfy for you today?”

“Hi,” Jester said, smiling back as best she could. “I would like to have sex.”

The woman laughed softly. “Well of course, dear,” she said, “that's what most people come here for. Can you be a little more specific about what you want?”

“Ummmm,” Jester said, her brain moving at a glacial speed. “All of it.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “All of it?” she confirmed.

Jester nodded. “All of the sex.”

“Well, alright then,” said the madam. “We do require full payment up front for our all-inclusive package.”

Jester fished around in her purse, then pulled out a fistful of mostly gold coins, which she deposited rather clumsily on the podium. “Is that enough?” she asked.

The madam quickly stacked and counted them. “That is more than enough, my dear,” she said gently. “Pick anyone you like – everyone down here is on duty. Feel free to take your time, if you like.”

Jester gave the room a quick once-over, then pointed to a man with a kind face and sharp cheekbones. “Him,” she said decisively. She hesitated for a moment as he made his way towards her, then pointed at the half-orc woman. “Her too.” She fished in her pocket for a few more coins and handed them to the madam, who nodded to the woman. She walked over as well.

Jester looked from one to the other, then offered each an arm. “Ready?”

“Of course,” said the man, smiling, and Jester felt butterflies surge in her as she noticed the way the hollow of his throat flexed.

“More than ready,” said the woman slyly, and a shiver ran through Jester at the way the woman looked at her.

They each took an arm, and lead Jester up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge, enormous thank you to all the people who commented on my last chapter. Every single comment was absolutely wonderful - you guys packed in so many details! They absolutely made my week, and I really can't thank you all enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I post new updates about once a week, but the exact day of the week varies - usually Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday.


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